Something Borrowed
by EachPeachPearPlum
Summary: When Merlin proposes to his sister, Arthur knows nothing will ever be the same between them, and he can live with that. He won't be happy about it, but even if he's loved Merlin for years, he's not going to stand up at their wedding shouting, "I object," not when it won't do him any good. And then the stag night happens. (Merlin/Morgana, with Merlin/Arthur as the endgame)
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: **So, as anyone who has checked my profile lately knows, I entered the Merlin reversebigbang this year. It was equal parts fun and stress-causing, but I got my fic completed and posted on time. Anyone who wants to read the full thing now (post-beta but pre-edits-now-that-I-have-time-to-edit), head on over to ao3 (archiveofourown works/1424167), or I will be posting it probably a chapter a week (fifteen total) over here.  
This is based on fantastic art by bloodsongs, which can also be found on ao3 (archiveofourown works/1422589), which I seriously recommend you check out. In addition to the gorgeous image of the wedding that was her first entry, she was also willing to draw an amazing second piece at my request, of Arthur angsting (who doesn't like that?) over his speech. Again, I recommend you head over there.  
And, because I cannot say it enough, this fic would never have been finished (or, for that matter, started) without my incredible beta and bud, Daroh. You make my life and this fic so much better. (Also, any scenes that merit this an M-rating are entirely down to her and Detochkina, and you have no idea how much angst the pair of them caused me with their determination that I be specific)

**Warnings: **Language, sex, violence to computers, and a fuckton of angst (imperial, obviously). I hope you enjoy :)

_Something old,  
Something new,  
Something borrowed,  
Something blue._

X 1 X

"Arthur," Morgana calls, walking into his house without so much as a courtesy knock. Yes, Arthur has given her a key, and yes, they shared a womb for nine months and baths for several years after that, but the key is supposed to be for emergencies only, and the years in which Arthur shared everything with his sister are long gone. "You home, little brother?"

Arthur looks up from his place on the sofa to the door Morgana is closing behind her, resisting the urge to point out that fifteen minutes hardly counts, mostly because she laughed him out of making that argument at least a decade ago. "Do come in, Morgana. It's lovely to see you. Can I offer you a drink?"

"No," Morgana says, ignoring his sarcasm as she ignores everything else that doesn't suit her purpose. "Although you might want one. This isn't a social call, Arthur."

"Funnily enough, I hadn't thought it was. You've never visited anyone without at least two ulterior motives in your life."

Morgana smiles without humour, but then Arthur's jokes have never amused her all that much. She slips out of her coat and hangs it on one of the hooks by the door, then crosses the room without taking her shoes off, her heels leaving little indentations in the carpet that slowly fade like footprints in the sand. The sofa hardly shifts at all as she sits beside him, curling her feet up underneath her and never mind the leather.

"Arthur," she says again, so quiet he has to lean in to hear her. "Merlin is going to ask me to marry him."

Heart sinking through his stomach, Arthur forces a smile onto his face; Morgana may know him well enough to know that it's not real, but that doesn't mean he can't try for her. His sister. His best friend. He's happy for them. "Congratulations! I'm so happy for you."

Morgana's eyes narrow, and Arthur knows she knows his cheer is faker than Katie Price's tits. "Save it until he gives me the ring, brother," she says, drier than the Sahara, before turning on him with a disturbing intensity.

"Tell me not to," she says, wrapping her hand around his, talons shielded enough that she's not quite drawing blood. "Tell me to say no and I will, Arthur. Tell me to leave him and it's over."

For once, Arthur doesn't pretend not to know what she's talking about. It's far from the first time Morgana has made hints about his feelings for Merlin; she told him the same thing years ago, the first time Arthur walked into a room to find the pair of them kissing and refused to speak to either of them for a week without even realising why he was so angry. _Tell me not to_, she said. _Tell me to stay away from him and it'll never happen again._

He'd laughed, then, mystified and lost, because Merlin was his best friend and Morgana was his sister and there was no reason for him to hate the idea of them together. _No reason_, he told himself, and continued telling himself right until he realised there actually was.

Today, he isn't laughing; he might still be lying to the rest of the world, might successfully have kept all the truths he cannot say from everyone but his sister, but Arthur has stopped lying to himself.

In the darker part of himself, the part he hates most of all, he thinks about doing it. Morgana wouldn't make him give a reason, not when she already knows it. She would just nod, smile like she's proud of him, and go home to Merlin one last time before packing up and moving out.

All Arthur has to do to stop them marrying is admit he wants to. Three words, _don't marry him_, and he will never have to watch the man he loves swear to love only his sister until he dies.

Three words, _don't marry him_, and Arthur will break two hearts, with nothing at all to show for it. Merlin loves his sister, will still love her even if the two of them break up. Arthur will never have him.

"I'm happy for you, 'Gana," he says again, because whatever choice he makes, he loses, and at least this way the two people who matter the most to him are whole and happy.

Morgana smiles at him, her expression equal parts joy and sorrow, so clearly relieved she doesn't have to keep her promise, so clearly sad that, even now, he just isn't as brave as she wants him to be.

She doesn't speak, though, merely sweeps to her feet and stalks out, disappearing with as little warning and as much drama as she arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

It's only when he reaches the gates to the garden of Morgana's childhood home that Merlin realises how ridiculous an idea this is; Arthur would laugh so hard he'd probably wet himself if he knew what Merlin was planning, and Morgana…Morgana would be either amused or offended, maybe equal parts of both. They wouldn't understand, and Merlin doesn't quite get it himself, but the gates are opening and it's too late to turn around and go back now.

He presses his left foot to the clutch, then tries a second time because his car rivals the Pendragons for stubbornness sometimes, finally managing to jam it into first and set off down the stupidly long private road Uther considers an appropriate length for a driveway.

Geoffrey meets him at the front door, wearing the same expression he usually does when Merlin shows up here; Uther might not hold too much of a grudge for the time Merlin and Arthur rearranged all the books in the library by colour rather than alphabetically by author, but the butler still doesn't think Merlin should be allowed inside unless accompanied by a responsible adult (and no, Arthur and Morgana don't count).

"The children aren't here, Mr Emrys," Geoffrey says, his face the perfect picture of a woman who smells something foul but is too polite to mention it, if in a slightly overweight, bearded and balding fashion.

"I know," Merlin says; since Morgana lives with him and everyone knows Arthur always works late on Thursdays before going back to his flat, it would be a little unusual for him not to. "I was hoping to see Uth- Mr Pendragon. I called ahead to check he'd be home."

Geoffrey sniffs but steps aside, glaring at Merlin's car like its mere presence outside the house is devaluing the entire county. Merlin makes a point of locking it, purely because, as Arthur has said for years, he can be an obnoxious brat when it suits him.

"Mr Pendragon is in his office," Geoffrey says, his shiny shoes making no noise at all on the genuine wooden floorboards, even as Merlin's beaten-down converse slip-slap their way across the threshold. "If you would wait here, I shall inform him of your presence."

Merlin smiles, too familiar with the ways of the house to fall for that again; the last time he agreed to wait downstairs for Geoffrey to get someone, he was sixteen and coming over to play video games with Arthur, only to be left abandoned in the hall for almost an hour before Arthur came to investigate why he was even later than usual. "It's no trouble, Geoff," he says, enjoying the way the crease between Geoffrey's brows deepens slightly, the old man too polite to correct a guest (be it a self-invited one like Merlin) even if he wants to. "I remember where it is."

He's off before the butler can object, taking the stairs two at a time, faster than he knows Geoffrey will be able to follow him. "Thanks," he calls from the top, leaning over the banister just to be sure he's getting the full effect of the glare Geoffrey's shooting at him.

The house has always been far too large for three people, even more so now that it's only Uther living here, and it takes Merlin far too long to reach Uther's office, way off in that part of the house they were never allowed in as kids. Noisy children with sticky fingers had no place there, he'd been told more than once, and even now, definitely not a child anymore, Merlin has trouble shaking the feeling that he's out of bounds.

Still, he's come this far, and there's no prize for chickening out at this point; Morgana would be even less impressed by that than his being there in the first place, Uther would be furious at him for arranging to see him and then not showing up, and Arthur…Arthur's laughter would probably go from pissing himself to killing himself, the bastard, and then who would Merlin ask to be his best man?

Merlin taps a slightly shaky hand on Uther's office door, waiting for an answer from the voice that doomed far too many childhood games.

And there it is, with a soft and slightly stormy, "Come in."

Merlin does, hovering in the doorway as Uther stares at the papers scattered across the desk before him, and he'd forgotten how dark this room is. It's no surprise Uther is such an irritable git, really, when he spends most of his life surrounded by dark wood panelling and leather-bound books so dull Merlin doesn't think anyone has actually read them in decades. Even the sunlight seems to stop short at the window, blocked by the thick velvet curtains even when they're open.

"Is the irritating Emrys boy here already?" Uther asks, not looking up, and Merlin fights down a nervous giggle. "Send him through, please, Geoffrey."

"I thought you'd say that," Merlin answers, relishing the way the expression on Uther's face is probably the closest thing the old bastard can get to looking embarrassed. "So I figured I'd save Geoffrey's legs the trip up here and back again."

Uther recovers quickly, stacking his papers into a single pile and fixing a not-quite smile on his face. "I see," he says, the same way he used to after Merlin, Arthur and Morgana garbled out an explanation for breaking yet another unspeakably expensive family heirloom (usually Merlin's fault, if he's honest, but Morgana was willing to share the blame from time to time). "Sit, then, Mr Emrys."

Merlin obeys, largely out of habit; he knows from more than a decade of being summoned in here with Arthur for a scolding that the chairs Uther keeps for guests in his office are not at all comfortable, but he also knows from experience that opposing Uther on something as small as this will only lead to misery later on. "Thank you," he says, again from habit, although this time it's one encouraged by his mother. Unfortunately, Hunith's lessons on manners never touched on how to ask his girlfriend's father for her hand in marriage, and all the things Merlin had planned on his way up here suddenly sound pretty ridiculous.

"Why did you come here?" Uther asks eventually, storming through the awkward silence as he storms through everything else. "One assumes you have a reason for interrupting my rather busy schedule."

In answer, Merlin pulls a blue velvet ring box from his pocket. It's a little battered, one of the corners indented slightly, the velvet scuffed from where generations of Emrys men have passed it from hand to hand, terrified of being refused. "I want to ask Morgana to marry me," he says, opening the box to show Uther the ring that came to him from his mother. Nothing fancy, not really, nothing like the beautiful heirlooms Morgana and Arthur grew up with, things too precious for children to touch.

"It was my mother's," he says, "And my grandmother's before that. I know it's not much, but I could save every spare penny I earn for the rest of my life and I still wouldn't have enough to buy anything half as good as what you probably think she deserves."

Uther frowns his _Pest, why do I humour your foolish desire to breathe?_ frown, and Merlin feels the need to continue before his hopefully-soon-to-be father-in-law (and oh, god, he's only just realising that if Morgana doesn't turn him down flat he's going to be _related_ to this man) decides to act on his threat.

"It's not much," he says a second time, "And you probably think Morgana deserves better than this – hell, you probably think that she deserves better than me, too, but I love her, and I have to hope that means more to you than how much money I earn or who my family is."

For a long time, Uther continues his stare, strict and severe and, really, Merlin isn't a whole lot less scared of him now than he was as a kid. It's stupid, because it's a ridiculously archaic tradition to ask a man for his daughter's hand before proposing to her, and it's not like Uther's refusal is going to stop him. It's not going to stop Morgana, either, he doesn't think, and some tiny part of him argues that, actually, the fact that her father disapproves of him might end up working in his favour, but he squashes it quickly; if Morgana marries him, he doesn't want it to just be because it'll piss off her father. He wants it to be because she loves him, because she feels – as he does – that this is the only possible future that makes sense.

"I love her," Merlin repeats, as if that'll help anything. "I love her more than pretty much anything, and I would like very much if you were okay with me marrying her."

"Have you spoken to Arthur about this?" Uther asks, and Merlin really wasn't expecting that. It's not a _no_, which is great, but at least that would have made sense.

"Nuh-ohhh," he says, confusion dragging the word into two syllables. Arthur has nothing to do with he and Morgana, has no place in this conversation, and whatever Merlin once thought was between them, whatever future he wondered about them having together, it is nothing but that; a thought, a moment of folly, and Merlin has long put it behind him. "Do you think I should ask his permission?"

Uther doesn't answer, but then when his expression conveys perfectly well how stupid he thinks Merlin is, he doesn't really need to. Of course, Merlin doesn't actually know why he's stupid on this particular occasion (he's not the one who brought up Arthur, after all), but it's still pretty damn obvious how little Uther thinks of his intelligence.

Eventually, Uther seems to tire of wordlessly calling Merlin a whole variety of synonyms for _idiot_. "Mr Emrys," he says, then rolls his eyes and actually seems to relax a little, dropping his shoulders and massaging his left temple. "Merlin, I'm not a young man anymore. I'd quite like grandchildren before I die."

"Um," Merlin says, because it's about the only thing he can say to that.

"You have my permission," Uther says. "I cannot say whether that will help or hinder your case, but you have it. I trust that you will do all you can to make my children happy."

"Um," Merlin says again, confusion over that last sentence temporarily supplanting his gratitude.

"You have my permission," Uther repeats, looking back down at his paper-covered desk. "That will be all, Mr Emrys."

Dismissed and still so very confused, Merlin stands up, heading back through the maze of hallways to the front door and his car.

_Pendragons,_ he thinks. He's never going to understand them.


	3. Chapter 3

X 3 X

Morgana can pinpoint the moment she fell for Merlin, which is how she knows for sure Arthur was there first.

The pair of them met Merlin an eternity ago, when Arthur was even more of an insufferable little turd than he is now and Morgana still believed half the bullshit Uther spouted on a daily basis, and, quite honestly, Merlin and Arthur's relationship back then could really only be described as _hate at first sight_. Arthur was used to getting his own way, to people doing exactly what he told them to do, exactly when he told them to do it, and the tiny new scholarship kid with his second-hand, two-sizes-too-big uniform didn't so much throw a spanner in the works as an entire toolbox, and then some.

From the offset, Merlin had pressed all of Arthur's buttons, returned every insult with one just as vehement (odd, certainly, but no one can deny Merlin's jibes are heartfelt), and was almost as good at managing Arthur's temper as Morgana. Arthur pushed, Merlin pushed back harder, and for years, Morgana thought her boys (that's what they were then, what they still are, even if she doesn't tell them it) would hate each other forever.

And then Uther caught her with a boy in her room when she was fourteen – a boy not her brother or Merlin, who was, as far as her father was concerned, gayer than a unicorn skipping over a rainbow and about as much threat as a raisin – and packed her off to an all-girl school a million miles from everyone she knew. No more Merlin, almost no Arthur, and at some point in the four years she was gone, the two of them got over their petty hatred.

At some point in the years she was gone, Arthur fell in love.

They still sniped at each other (still do, always will), still fought and bickered and argued more than they breathed, but the venom was gone, replaced by an entirely different kind of heat. The fights were much more entertaining to watch, once she knew she wouldn't have to step in to stop her brother stealing Merlin's toys or bashing him over the head whenever they disagreed (well, Arthur never hit Merlin with any real force anymore, which was almost the same thing), but at the same time there was something to it that made it feel almost voyeuristic to watch them, so much so that for the first week she was back Morgana was convinced they were getting it on.

They weren't, or so Merlin's awkward _I've never done this before_ confession the first time she slept with him suggested, but that week was probably what made her see Merlin as someone real, someone grownup, someone other than the gawky kid she'd known since they were seven.

He wasn't her usual type, but he made up for the lack of brawn with an excess of brain. Merlin was shy where all her previous boyfriends had been bold, skinny instead of strong, way kinder than the dickheads she'd gone with before, and far more interested in talking to her than getting her out of her knickers, at least at first.

Maybe it was the challenge that sucked her in, maybe the sibling rivalry that neither she nor Arthur had ever really managed to get a hold of, or maybe it was the way Merlin blushed when, a week after she'd gotten back from school, he'd seen her padding down the hall from the bathroom to her bedroom wrapped in just a towel. Blushed, averted his eyes (like he didn't know why she'd been sent away and just how deserved her bad reputation probably was – or, for that matter, like the towel didn't cover way more than the dress she'd worn to her welcome home party the night before), and dropped the bottles of beer he'd been carrying upstairs.

"Put some clothes on, you tart," Arthur had said, fondly exasperated, coming out to investigate the sound of shattering glass. "Merlin, stop being such a blushing maiden and get something to clean this up with. Honestly, half the world's seen her tits, it's not like you need to look away."

Merlin blinked, blushed harder, and refused to make eye contact with either of them. "Even if that was true," he said, halfway between defiance and shame, "It wouldn't be a good enough reason to stare. Sorry, Morgana."

He turned and went back downstairs then, and Morgana saw that the flush on his cheeks went all the way around the back of his neck, too.

"Brother," she said quietly, watching Merlin practically run away from them, "If you're either shagging him or planning on it, tell me now, otherwise I'm going to have to."

Arthur just gaped at her like the possibility hadn't even occurred to him, like he was somehow blind to the way they fought, the way they spoke, they way they goddamn looked at each other, even. "We are talking about Merlin, aren't we?"

"Yes," she answered, even though that ought to be obvious, and paused long enough that if he was going to come to some kind of realisation, he would have done so. His expression didn't change, though, still the face that said he thought she was insane, and as much as part of her wanted to beat some sense into him, that was a level of selflessness most of her disagreed with.

"Thank you, Arthur," she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek and allowing herself one last laugh at the look on his face.

"Can I come back upstairs yet?" Merlin called, and if she'd needed anything more in the way of evidence than Arthur's complete surprise, that was it. There was no way that anyone could be with her brother and still be that innocent, still be that sweet; there was no way he was Arthur's, and since Arthur apparently wasn't even aware he wanted him to be, there was nothing to stop her.

And that, she thinks, was it. Game over and, as shitty as she feels sometimes when she catches Arthur watching them with an expression more wistful than jealous, she's just not selfless enough to wish it was otherwise.

X

Merlin is already home when Morgana gets back, has clearly been there a while; the floors have been vacuumed, the surfaces dusted, and the bathroom can only be described as gleaming, but it's when she goes into the bedroom to change out of her uncomfortably pressed work clothes that Morgana is most impressed.

All the clothes littering the floor (his and hers, because Merlin has never really cared too much about the mess and, of Morgana's many rebellions, it's the ones that started out smallest that have lasted the longest) are gone, the bed has been made (and not just in the scruffy, _I've just changed the sheets and this is as close to tidy as I can be bothered with making it_ way that Merlin usually leaves it) and, most of all, the place seems to have been covered in enough lit candles to give a fire-safety officer a heart attack.

In the middle of it all, leaning over to hold a lighter to one last candle, is Merlin, her Merlin, and Morgana really doesn't know what to think of it all.

"Hey," Merlin says, soft and awed, and Morgana's hands freeze on the buttons of her blouse, halfway through unfastening them. "Want a hand with those?"

"What's the occasion?" she asks, since a scathing _I have mastered buttons, you know_ won't go down well, and she loves him enough that she won't ruin this for him.

"You know full well what the occasion is," Merlin says, and even though he has to know the retort she had ready to fly, he thinks nothing of sliding into her space and flicking the rest of her buttons free with deft fingers. "I know you know," he continues, quieter now, closer, nuzzling at her neck as he slides her blouse down her arms and off, the silk pooling on the floor around her feet like water.

"I have to say," she says, his mouth dragging hot over her collarbone towards her shoulder as his hands rest feather-light on her hips. "I was expecting the bed to be strewn with rose petals. I'm a little disappointed."

Merlin laughs, a tad self-deprecating, as his laugh usually is. "I know, it's lame," he says. "And it's cheesy and ridiculous, but I love you, and I kind of hoped you might just take it as a romantic gesture and ignore the lameness." He pauses, smiling against her skin. "Of course, I could always call the whole thing off. Put out the candles, clear all this up, return that really expensive bottle of red, the same one we had in Rome two years ago…"

"Don't you dare," Morgana says, sliding her hands under his shirt, mapping the planes of his stomach as she has a thousand times or more; her Merlin, her heart. "Shouldn't there be more kneeling involved in this?"

Merlin kisses her like the world is ending, all the sweetness of their first kiss and all the fire she'd want for their last, even though she wants more than almost anything for there not to be a last. "If you're offering," he says softly, catching her bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls back. "No bloke is ever going to say no to that, particularly not when it's you."

"Perv," she mutters, but the only spark to it is the one curling inside her, an ember burning low but ready to blaze as soon as it's fed. "Can't you just hurry up and propose already, so that we can get to the good stuff?"

Unfortunately, Merlin seems to take that as his cue to stop (she'd call it stupid boy-logic, but in truth it's probably just stupid Merlin-logic), or at least to slow down in a fairly major way; his hands drop, hanging limply by his sides, and his mouth is distressingly far away from hers.

"Is that a yes?" he asks, and the wonder in his voice and on his face suggests that he actually thought there was a chance of her turning him down. It's sweet, and silly, and so very Merlin that she can't resist dragging it out a little longer.

"I wasn't aware you'd actually asked me anything yet."

Merlin takes a step back, then a second, and clasps her left hand in both of his, then drops to his knees. It's unexpected, even after the over-the-top romantic gestures he's made already, and Morgana has never been so glad that Merlin isn't really one for public displays of affection, because there's no way her face doesn't show how melt-y she feels right now; in private, just between the two of them, it's okay, but in public, it would probably only turn her into a monster. If Merlin ever made a spectacle like this in public, she'd be obliged to turn him down just to save face, even if she'd have to engage in some form of ritual suicide afterwards.

"Morgana," he says, kneeling before her and lifting her hand to his mouth, his eyes so intent on hers that she can almost believe she's the centre of his world, the only one he'll ever see, and it hardly matters that standing half-naked in their bedroom wasn't how she saw this moment going. It only matters that it's Merlin and that, here and now, he is hers.

"Will you marry me?" he asks, and that is it; maybe it should feel anticlimactic after the candles and the cleaning and the wine he must have spent ages trying to get hold of and a fortune buying once he actually tracked it down, but mostly it just feels like Merlin.

Even if Arthur had asked her to, she's not sure she could ever have said no.


	4. Chapter 4

X 4 X

Arthur knows, the second Merlin offers to buy him lunch, exactly what he wants to talk to him about. He also knows that today is going to be far, far worse than yesterday.

"I can't, really," he says, barely glancing up from his computer. "I'm just a little too busy, today."

His barely-a-glance is still too much of a glance, though, because Merlin is looking at him pathetically, beseechingly, the _please, Arthur, please_ look he's made a mission of ruining Arthur's life with.

"Come on, Arthur, please," he says, just in case the look wasn't persuading enough for him. "The world won't end if you escape for half an hour, and I want to talk to you."

"Working, Merlin," Arthur argues, but it's already too late, and he and Merlin both know it, both know that, somehow, Merlin always gets his way.

"But-"

"No."

"Arthur-"

"_No_."

"I'll never ask you for anything else."

"Yes, you will."

"I promise, Arthur. Never."

Arthur sighs, rolling his eyes. "You always make promises you can't keep, Merlin," he says, because the very next time Merlin wants something Arthur can help him with, he'll be back again, begging eyes and all. He'll be back, and Arthur will be just as incapable of saying no then as he is now.

"Half an hour," he concedes, standing up and putting his laptop to sleep. "That is it, and we're not just going to one of your germ-infested burger vans, either."

Merlin grins his million-watt grin, snickers nervously enough that Arthur knows he has no idea where to go now that he's nixed that idea, and as good as skips from the office.

X

They end up in some fuddy-duddy cafe, full of doilies and ugly fake flowers in massive planters, but Merlin is making a point and his point is that there are worse places than the burger van opposite Arthur's work.

His point is well and truly made, and they both know it, even if Arthur is too stubborn to tell him he wins, stubborn enough that they will eat their lunch here, surrounded by old married couples bickering with their friends about who has the most successful grandchildren. And the doilies. Far too many doilies, although Merlin isn't entirely sure that it's possible to have any doilies at all without automatically having too many.

Still, he's won, and that makes it a lot easier for Merlin to smile through his nerves, even if he's still hiding his hands in his lap to conceal their shaking.

"So she said yes, then," Arthur says, as they look through pages and pages of sandwich and soup options, his tone more fitting for asking if Merlin's mother is dead, which is a tad off-putting.

"I know she's your sister," Merlin answers, "But you could try being a little excited for me. It's hardly the end of the world."

"I'm very happy for you." _When's the funeral?_

Merlin is saved from having to come up with any kind of response (which is good, since the woman, eighty if she's a day but remarkably swift with her knitting needles, sat at the table next to them probably wouldn't appreciate his language) by the arrival of a waitress. She's young, compared to all the patrons other than them, and she looks like she's trying to decide whether to take their order or ask if they're lost.

Arthur saves her the trouble, ordering a ham and cheese sandwich, then actually looks at Merlin for the first time since they left his office.

"Oh," Merlin says, and he doesn't really want to say he's not ready when Arthur has already ordered, even if he hasn't actually opened the menu yet. "Yeah, I'll have the same," he finishes, smiling as winningly as he can. "And a banana milkshake, please."

"Flirt," Arthur mutters, after she's smiled back and returned to the counter. "Shouldn't you be stopping that now?"

"I was being polite," Merlin says. "_Nice_. You should probably try it sometime."

Arthur frowns at him, the same irritation that Merlin thinks caused his initial refusal to come out making a comeback, and with it Merlin's nervousness crashes down again. It's stupid, senseless, but Merlin thinks he's probably more nervous now than he was when he proposed to Morgana, even though it's only Arthur. It's not like Merlin's asking him to marry him, just to stand there and smile when he marries Morgana, and Merlin doesn't really think Arthur will say no, the way he half-expected Morgana to. It's Arthur, Merlin's best friend and Morgana's twin brother, and there is absolutely no reason to be anxious about asking him this.

Even so, Arthur's frown and Merlin's inexplicable jitters last until their lunches arrive, by which point the silence is so present it might as well be a third person sat at their table.

"So Morgana said yes," Arthur says eventually, and it as good as shatters all the momentum Merlin has built up, all the effort he's put in to making himself speak.

"Yeah," he answers, even though it still isn't a question. "She told you she found the ring, then? I thought for once I'd actually managed to hide something somewhere she wouldn't find it."

Arthur smiles a death-bed smile. "Not so much," he answers, and Merlin thinks of the smile Morgana had given him when he told her he knew she knew, her _I know everything_ smile, and, really, Merlin has never doubted that she does. "She told me you were going to ask her, though."

"Right," Merlin says, because it's easier than trying to work out the ins and outs of Morgana's apparent prescience. "So, I proposed, and she said yes, and…" he pauses, those nerves again, creeping and cruel, wrapping around his throat and putting a tremble in his voice to match the one in his hands. "And so I've been thinking, about all the planning and whatever, and I don't much care about where we have it or what kind of service it is. I'll let Morgana sort all that, it's her day and it doesn't matter to me. But…"

He pauses again, takes a fortifying gulp of milkshake (better than alcohol any day, he thinks, at least in terms of liquid courage), then finishes his request in a rush. "But I do know one thing I want for it, and that's that you be there. Arthur, will you be my best man?"

X

And there it is, Arthur thinks, the question he was waiting for, the question Merlin has spent so long building up to, and maybe his instinctive reaction to Merlin asking him a question is to give him whatever he wants, but that doesn't mean he does, and it doesn't mean he's going to now. He will not stop Merlin marrying Morgana, will not take their happiness from them so cavalierly, but he won't be there to watch it, either.

"I'd love to, Merlin," he says, and for a fraction of a second Merlin's face lights up. "But I can't," he concludes, "It's a very busy time at work right now."

"We haven't even set a date yet."

That, Arthur thinks, is a distressingly fair point, and something he probably should have been smart enough to take into account before using such a dismal excuse. "Yes," he says; in for a penny, in for a pound. "However, things at work are always busy, and I don't have…I would, but…"

Merlin looks even more hurt than Arthur had expected him to, and it's terrible; he hates when Merlin looks like that, always feels the need to pummel whoever is responsible, feels it even more when the one responsible is him. That doesn't change anything, though.

"Ask Gwaine, maybe," he suggests, like he thinks that'll be in any way a suitable alternative; Gwaine isn't exactly Mr Commitment, and being asked to be best man at a wedding would probably have him breaking out in hives. "Or Lance, I'm sure he'd love to, and you know Gwen will be one of the bridesmaids. It makes far more sense."

"My God, you're an arse," Merlin says, and for all that they spend half their time squabbling (like an old married couple, Morgana said once, which she bloody would, wouldn't she, and now she's going to be the one Merlin bickers with endlessly as they stagger around on Zimmer frames together) this is far, far harsher than usual. "I don't want Lancelot, or Gwaine. I want you, and I don't want to do this without you by my side."

Arthur doesn't know what answer to give that, even though he still wants to refuse, to distance himself from this thing that will mean the end of life as he knows it, the end of life as he wishes it to be. He wants to be there for Merlin, with Merlin, standing at his side, but not like this. Not like this, at the wrong side of him.

"I can't," he says. "The planning, the speech, the stag night…I don't have time."

"Forget the planning," Merlin says, sounding equal parts devastated and desperate. "Forget the stag night and the speech and anything else that a best man usually does. They're not important. I just want you to show up, stand next to me, and give me the rings when I ask for them. One day, probably not much more than an hour, and that's it."

"I can't."

Merlin smiles, both triumphant and not, and the sight of it terrifies Arthur. "Fine," Merlin says, staring him down, refusing to give Arthur quarter with his gaze as much as his words. "Then you can explain to your sister why the wedding isn't going to happen."

_Bastard_, Arthur thinks, momentarily hating his best friend as much as he's ever loved him (which, it must be said, is an awful lot). _Oh, you bastard_, he thinks, this time directed at himself just as much as it is Merlin, because he wants to stand in their way, and this would be Merlin's decision. This would be Merlin calling it off, without Arthur asking him to, and it wouldn't be his fault.

But it would, really. It would be Arthur's fault, and, again, he would be ruining Merlin and his sister's happiness for nothing. No good would come of it.

He still can't give in, even if resisting will ruin their lives.

Merlin puts his sandwich down, glaring at Arthur across the table. "So, what is it?" he asks, and Arthur doesn't know if he should be relieved or not; surely if Merlin actually meant his threat to call off the wedding, he'd be storming out right about now, not sticking around to argue some more. "Would you be this much of a dick to anyone your sister was marrying, or is it just me you think isn't good enough for her?"

"No!" Arthur says, far too quickly, far too loudly, and Merlin startles a little. "Don't be such an idiot, Merlin; you know that's not it."

"Right," Merlin mutters, more dejected than outright argumentative. "Now I'm an idiot. Thanks, Arthur. Is that why you're so against this?"

Arthur struggles for words for a moment, feeling a little bit like Merlin is trying to make this difficult for him, like this is all just him causing Arthur trouble for no reason. It's not fair to think that, not when Merlin is probably the most unfailingly good bloke Arthur has ever met, but he thinks it anyway.

Merlin speaks when he doesn't, resigned and hollow. "I know there are better people out there," he says. "She's the only woman I've ever loved, and the only person who has ever wanted me back. Believe me, Arthur; I know how lucky I am that she'll settle for me, when there are so many better men out there."

_No_, Arthur thinks, and has absolutely no idea how to say the words in his mind, the words so frequently in his mind, that Merlin is probably the best man he's ever met. Merlin is beyond wonderful, beyond being a good man, and if Arthur had ever wondered if Merlin was once interested in him, this would be all the evidence he could need to prove he wasn't; if Arthur had been one of the people Merlin wanted, he would have had no doubt at all about Arthur being interested in return.

"There are _no_ better men." Arthur says, with all the finality he can muster, hating that they have to talk about this, almost hating Merlin for refusing to let this drop. "She's not settling, Merlin," he says, and he definitely hates how much he wants Merlin to reply, _No, I am_. "She loves you."

"And I love her."

Even though Arthur knows that already, hearing it still hurts, will probably always hurt, but they can talk about this all day and that will never change. However much he loves Merlin, however often he's thought that maybe there's something there in return, some spark between them that could, if given the chance, become more, it is nothing compared to the way Merlin looks at his sister, the way she looks back.

"Fine," he says, and it is for Merlin's sake that he tries to keep the defeat out of his voice, though defeated he very definitely is; Merlin will marry his sister, and Arthur will be there to witness it. "You win, Merlin. Now, I need to get back to work."

He stands before Merlin can reply, stalks out before Merlin has the chance to drop some money on the table and run after him.

He runs away, Arthur can't deny that's what he's doing, but he's already stayed as long as he can.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes: **Just want to say a quick thank you to everyone for reviewing. Been a busy couple of weeks, so I haven't had time to do individual replies, guys. Sorry :(

X 5 X

Morgana has been sitting at their kitchen table, staring at nothing, for the best part of half an hour before Merlin dares to interrupt her, his concern finally overriding his caution.

"'Gana?" he asks, sliding into the seat across from her and placing a cup of tea on the table between them. "What's up?"

Morgana blinks once, then a second time, her eyes finally focusing back in the room. She looks at Merlin like he's a stranger, though, a man she's never met who has suddenly appeared in her home, as opposed to her friend of almost two decades and her fiancé for three months. "I don't know if we should do this," she says; Merlin has a horrid suspicion he knows exactly what she means, and it hurts just as much as the lack of recognition on her face.

"Do what?"

"This," she says again, gesturing to the pile of wedding brochures on the side by the microwave, the crumbs from five different cakes still on a plate at her elbow, the list of approved locations from her father. "The wedding."

It's Merlin's turn to blink, because thinking he knows what she means doesn't make it any bloody easier to actually hear her say it. "You're leaving me?" He asks, sounding utterly pathetic even to his own ears, but at least it's better than begging (he's sure that'll come later, though). "I thought…I love you."

Morgana looks at him with the same blazing intensity she offered to the blank wall in their kitchen just minutes ago, except now it's like he's the only thing she can see, absolute and eternal. Like he's the only thing she'll ever be able to see, and in this moment where his heart is breaking more than a little bit, Merlin thinks he loves her more than ever.

"Oh, Merlin," she says, reaching out and wrapping her hand around his. "Merlin, I love you, too, but…Is this wedding really what you want?"

"I don't understand."

"Well," she says, "You've not really been an active part of the planning, have you? You've said you're fine with every single thing I've suggested, and you haven't had anything to suggest for yourself." She sighs, not smiling, not even close to it, even though in any other set of circumstances Merlin would think her next words a joke. "A girl could be forgiven for thinking you weren't really all that interested."

"No!" Merlin says, before she can go any further. "No, 'Gana, you must know that's not true. I want to marry you, it just doesn't matter to me what the ceremony is like." He falters, letting his words drain away; it's entirely possible that saying the only part of the ceremony he really cares about is that Arthur be there won't quite sound how he wants it to, and even if, once, a long time ago, he might have meant it that way, even if Morgana knows he might once have meant it that way, they do not talk about it, and it is in the past.

"I thought you'd prefer it this way," Merlin says instead, because he loves Morgana, he does, and he cannot say anything that might make her doubt that. "I thought...most women would complain when their fiancé tries to involve himself in their wedding plans."

"Well, you're not marrying most women!" She snaps. "You're marrying me." She glares at him, not furious (he's seen Morgana furious, and it's far, far more terrifying than this) but definitely not happy. Merlin doesn't know how to defuse her, though, knows no way to calm Morgana down without making her explode entirely.

"I know," he says, as sincerely as he can. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Oh, Merlin," she says again, and the silence that follows seems to last forever. Eventually, she seems to shake herself, and with that her intensity is gone, or at least back to a more normal level (for her, at any rate). "Since you asked my father if you could marry me, I've looked at fifteen different venues, tried my weight in cake samples, spent hour after hour trying to battle him into not making me wear a white dress because I look terrible in white and everyone knows I'm not a virgin so the symbolism is utterly pointless, and I can't fucking do it anymore. I can't have the kind of wedding he wants us to, and-"

She inhales, deep and devastating, and Merlin doesn't want to think he had any idea what he thought the next words out of her mouth were going to be, but what she actually says is one hell of a surprise. "I think we should elope."

X

From then on, the planning is a little more straightforward and, Merlin thinks with no small amount of guilt, shared.

It's still not quick, and it's probably not what most people would consider eloping to be: there's still a date, and a guest list, and a venue to choose, but it's nothing, not when they compare it to what Uther was planning for them.

"So," Morgana says over dinner, the day after they make their decision. "Who do we want as witnesses?"

"Well, Arthur's my best man," Merlin answers, then swallows and apologises when she grimaces. "And Gwen is your head bridesmaid, right?"

"Right," Morgana agrees. "That's that, then. When?"

Merlin thinks on this for a moment, then realises what the finality of her words means. "Hang on, _that's that_ as in we'll think of other people later or _that's that_ like that's everyone, only two guests for Merlin and Morgana?"

Morgana laughs, almost glittering, and it's like she's a whole different person to the woman he argued with last night; not for the first time, Merlin wonders if she's maybe a little bit bipolar, or perhaps just plain crazy. "We agreed to elope, Merlin. That hardly lends itself to a long guest list."

"True," Merlin concedes, though he's always known making a concession to Morgana isn't necessarily healthy. It's healthier than getting married without his mother present, though, and Merlin would quite like to live to a ripe old age; the more of Morgana's plans he lets slide, the more of his own stipulations he'll be able to get through (or try, at least). "But my mum will murder us both if I get married without her there."

Morgana doesn't laugh this time, even though she looks a little amused. "And Uther will kill the pair of us and Hunith, too, if she's invited and he isn't."

"So that's another two on the guest list, then."

"No."

"No?"

"You've known my father for years, Merlin," Morgana says, in what is very definitely her _I'm patronising you by explaining_ tone (yet another thing she and Arthur have in common). "You know what he's like. If we invite him, he'll just take over, and we'll be right back to where we were yesterday."

Merlin accepts her point, even if he can't agree with the conclusion she's drawing from it; he can't imagine their wedding without his mother there, and if that means Uther has to be invited too, that's just how it is. "So we don't tell him, then."

Morgana frowns, which makes Merlin feel a little bit less sure of his genius idea. "I don't think I follow," she says slowly. "Are we inviting him or not?"

"We are," he says. "Just, you know, not to our wedding."

"I still don't follow," she says, confused, and Merlin probably shouldn't feel so good about being the one well and truly on top of the conversation, but he does; talking to either of the Pendragon twins so often leaves him flummoxed, and for once it's nice to be the one who knows what's going on.

"Let him carry on planning things," he says, deliberately trying to sound like he's stating the obvious, even as he knows it's mean to do so. "Try keep him from spending too much, but then it's not like you couldn't beat fifty pound notes out of him like some sort of creepy piñata, so it hardly matters if he goes overboard. Then, when it gets to not long before the date, invite him for dinner, tell him to dress smartly, and bam! Surprise wedding. We get the day we want, he still gets invited to the wedding, and everyone is happy."

"Uther is never happy," Morgana points out, but she's smiling again, so he thinks this plan is maybe a go. "So, I ask again, when?"

Merlin isn't entirely sure how one idea has changed him into the man with all the answers, but he's willing to go with it for now. "Maybe we sort out the _where_ first, then work based on when it's available?"

"Maybe," Morgana agrees, then carries on eating, neither of them mentioning the fact that this is a more concrete plan than anything they managed in the previous three months they've been engaged. "I'm still not wearing white, though."

Merlin grins, waggling his eyebrows in his best impression of Gwaine. "I'd never ask you to, love," he says. "Virginity is overrated, anyway."

X

From then on, the planning is simple, and Morgana does her best not to let her second thoughts win.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes: **Quick thank you to everyone who reviewed; it is so very much appreciated. And yes, I am updating this on a Sunday, because by the time it get to Monday evening I am so tired of Monday that it feels too much like effort to sort out a chapter of this. Hoping you all enjoy this one :) Peach

X 6 X

It's half an hour into Merlin's stag night when Arthur realises just how stupid it was to have Gwaine plan it for him, largely because that's exactly how long it takes Merlin to realise the club they're in wasn't Arthur's idea. He's not quite sure exactly what it is that clues Merlin in – the stage? The scantily (if at all) clad women? The tequila shots the waitress in the almost transparent dress keeps bringing over to their table? – but it's definitely something, and Merlin is not only tipsy, he's also pissed. He doesn't say anything, of course, but Arthur knows, and he knows he's made a mistake, even if Merlin _said _he didn't care about Arthur not planning the stag night.

It was easier in the short run, maybe, to get Gwaine to help out with his best man duties, because whilst Arthur is pretty sure he could have arranged an evening Merlin would enjoy a damn sight more than he's currently enjoying this one, he couldn't have planned it without a constant reminder of why he was doing it, and that, Arthur is more than sure he can do without.

So instead, when Gwaine came over to his for a beer one evening a month or two ago (his TV was broken and there was a game he wanted to catch, apparently, but it was just as likely that Gwaine was just tired of drinking away his own money) and Arthur's plans were still nothing more than a blank sheet of paper, he'd given up. "Look," he said, when he was enough drinks in to think it was a good idea. "I can't fucking do this, mate."

"Too much for you to plan something without Merlin there to help you out, is it, princess?" Gwaine answered, his tone borderline amused.

"Sure," Arthur agreed, because if he wasn't telling Morgana, he wasn't telling fucking Gwaine either. "Something like that, yeah. You want another?"

"Pope, Catholic?" was all the response that got (but then on a scale of one to ten of stupid questions, that one was pushing an eleven), and Gwaine was still frowning when Arthur returned to the living room with two opened bottles.

"Look," he said, and the git had the bad manners to sound sympathetic, when Arthur was fairly sure that everyone who was at all aware of his tiny, little, practically insignificant crush (such a teenage girl word, but even in his brain it sounded better than the truth, which was more along the lines of _hopelessly, endlessly, always love_)on Merlin was ignoring it entirely. "Do you want me to do it for you? Merlin never has to know, and all you'll have to do is turn up and not look too surprised."

"Whatever," he answered, and Gwaine knew enough to take that as a yes.

Now, though, he seriously fucking regrets it, because with each drink Merlin downs, the glare he's giving Arthur gets a little more present.

It's not that Merlin's glares are frightening, at all, not even in the slightest. It's just that it's Merlin, and whenever he's mad at Arthur, things always get way more difficult. No one else has ever made Arthur want to apologise so much, has ever made him wish so hard that he was better.

The second bar is worse, the tequila replaced by sambuca and the overly-revealing dress with hot-pants and a bra in a distressing shade of pink. It's the sort of place Arthur would never set foot in even if he wasn't gay, and since he is, the whole thing is pretty ridiculous.

"Here," Gwaine says, returning to the table, and Arthur was too busy hiding his face in his hands to notice him leaving but his reappearance is impossible to miss, thanks to the line of underwear-clad women following him (carrying trays above their heads and smirking, because Gwaine is incapable of being a human being sometimes).

"Jaegerbombs. Drink up, boys, and then I think there's a surprise for our Merlin, right, Arthur?"

_No_, Arthur thinks, then thinks it again just for good measure, as if that's going to change anything. "I think I've had one too many," he says, needing out before he has to witness his best friend/sister's fiancé/one-true-love getting a lap dance. "I'm just going to get some air. Enjoy."

He dodges through the crowd as best as he can on as many drinks as he's had, ignoring the voices calling him back. He should have just said no when Gwaine offered to plan this for him, should have said no when Merlin asked him to be his best man, should have said no when Morgana as good as asked him if she could marry Merlin, because he can't fucking do this anymore.

The bouncer (definitely the widest man Arthur's ever seen, even if he's far from being the tallest) looks at him oddly as he almost sprints past, but then he's probably used to seeing the one-man battering rams trying to get inside the club rather than trying to break out. Likewise, the two kids at the front of the very long queue (might be a dive, this place that Gwaine has picked, but it's both exclusive and popular, no denying that) who can't possibly be old enough to get inside give him looks that definitely suggest doubt in his sanity, but Arthur's outside, he can't see Merlin anymore, and he can breathe again, even if he's still too close.

It's killing him, this whole fucking thing.

His sister and his Merlin and they're so fucking happy. It's killing him.

"You know," Merlin's voice says, cooler than cucumber and as unwavering as steel, "You could have just told me you weren't the one planning tonight. I'd've understood."

"No," Arthur answers, and he'd actually prefer dying to looking at him, to having this conversation. "You wouldn't."

"No," Merlin agrees. "I wouldn't, but I'd've appreciated the honesty a lot more than you getting Gwaine to do all this and then lying to me about it."

Arthur sighs, feels something inside him break, and turns to look at Merlin; he's already there, under Arthur's skin, and pretending he isn't won't change that. "Go back inside, Merlin."

"Not without you."

_You're doing everything else without me_, thinks the worst part of Arthur, the part that a mixture of Merlin and alcohol always brings out in him. "I'll be there in a minute," he says, and something in his voice is enough to convince Merlin he's not just trying to fob him off.

"Better be, you git," Merlin answers, but he's smiling again, and Arthur's forgiven just like that. "I'm planning on staying at yours and vomiting on your carpet in gratitude for tonight, and that's going to be bloody difficult when Gwaine'll have me too drunk to remember your address if you're not with me."

_No_, Arthur thinks again, because Merlin is already drunk enough to be slurring and there's no way Arthur wants him over when he's going to be even worse later on. He's never managed to say no to Merlin and stick to it, though, and there's no point in trying now.

X

So he goes back in, and does his best to smile as a blonde straddles Merlin's thighs and waggles her enormous boobs in his face. He feels about as awkward, as uncomfortable, as Merlin looks, and has to try very hard not to grimace as the girl places Merlin's hands on either side of her waist and grinds down, her mouth far too close to Merlin's.

He does his best, it's all he can do, and when the girl finally climbs off his sister's fiancé, it feels almost like a reward that Gwaine starts chivvying them up, ready to move on to the next place, what Arthur can only hope is the last place.

Instead of heading down the street to yet another Soho club Arthur would rather avoid, Gwaine leads them to the closest bus stop, herding them all under the shelter and out of the drizzle.

"This isn't supposed to be happening," he mutters, glancing at his watch, then at the timetable on the side of the bus shelter. "The weather said it was supposed to be clear tonight."

"Where are we going?" Arthur asks, as close to silent as he can get, because everyone but the pair of them and Merlin are theoretically still under the impression that he planned this.

"You'll see," Gwaine tells him, just as quiet, digging in his pocket to fish out an Oyster card as a bus approaches them. "I hope you will, at least. But he'll like it."

_He'd better_, Arthur thinks; so far, Gwaine's estimate of what Merlin might enjoy has been a long way from the mark.

X

By the time they've switched from their second bus to the third, Arthur is feeling most of the way to being sober again, cool and rational and still not happy with this, still completely clueless as to their destination.

Gwaine continues to be obstinately silent, even as the seven of them climb from the bus (Merlin shouting a thank you at the driver, even though they use the second set of doors and there's a crowd of people between him and them, because he's never managed to accept that sometimes it's okay not to) and set off walking, Gwaine consulting the map app on his phone as they go.

"Come on, lads," Gwaine encourages, when the others start muttering complaints under their breaths (or not so much, in Elyan's case; Arthur quite audibly hears him wishing they were still back in the bar). "We're almost there."

Merlin, on the other hand, is looking increasingly cheery, which Arthur has to conclude is a good thing, even if he isn't entirely sure why.

"Are we going where I think we're going?" he asks Arthur, and his grin makes the streetlights seem unnecessary. "Because if we are, I completely forgive you for letting Gwaine do the thing with the clubs."

Arthur smiles back, hoping that a mysterious non-answer is something Merlin can live with; he's not above taking the credit for whatever is going to happen next, if it's going to make Merlin this happy.

If he's honest, he's not above taking the credit for anything that makes Merlin happy.

X

When Merlin is practically skipping with joy, they stop, Gwaine slightly ahead of the rest of them as a woman peels away from the wall of the closest building and approaches.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Gwaine drawls, kissing her with far more tongue than can be necessary, given the fact that they're not alone, that they're not even inside. "Guys, this is Eira, my date for the wedding. Eira, these are the guys: Arthur, Lance, Leon, Elyan, Percival, and our groom and space nerd, Merlin. Merls, you know where we are, yeah?"

Merlin's grin definitely makes all other sources of light obsolete now, makes Arthur glad he had Gwaine sort the whole thing out for him, because he doesn't know where they are or why but he knows he'd never have thought of it himself. "Are we going in?" he asks, while Arthur exchanges slightly baffled glances with the others.

"Nah, mate, just thought I'd bring you here to stare at the outside. Not a problem, is it?"

Merlin just hugs him, and grins, and hugs him again, then turns to Gwaine's girl. "Do you work here?"

"Ever since I graduated," she says, drawing a ridiculously large bunch of keys from her bag. "Right, you all better pick up after yourselves, and leave everything exactly as you found it. It's my job on the line if anyone finds out you've been here. Other than that, welcome to the Observatory."

X

Arthur never would have thought of this, but looking at Merlin now, he really thinks he should have done.

Merlin's obsession with the stars started not long after Balinor left, although back then Arthur was too busy hating him to really notice too much. For years, Morgana had their father buy Merlin increasingly powerful telescopes for his birthday, camped out in the grounds with him on the rare occasion it was warm and dry enough to sleep without a tent, and dragged Arthur along with them to any star-related thing she could find close to home, but it was only once she was gone that Arthur started listening, started working out what it was all about.

Merlin loves the light, the distance, the knowledge that they're looking up at things long gone but still visible for them. Arthur has always thought the stars are just lights in the sky, sometimes pretty but not worth straining his eyes to look at, not worth the extra hours of study, learning constellations and distances and details, but Merlin? Merlin sees the past in the stars, and for once he doesn't want to change it.

"It takes years for the light to reach us," Merlin says, staring at the ceiling in the planetarium, at the images moving above them. "Centuries, sometimes even longer. It's the closest we're going to get to time travel."

_I love you_, Arthur thinks, in the softness of the dark and the silence, and whilst he's known that for a while, it's the first time he's ever let himself think it so plainly.

X

Sometime around one, when everyone but Merlin seems to be getting bored of looking at random space stuff, Gwaine breaks out the booze again, along with a couple of packs of cards, and sits in the best lit corner of the room (Eira is understandably reluctant to let them turn on too many lights, and Merlin doesn't really seem to care all that much about the fact that he's wandering around in the dark; at the very least, the quiet curses he utters each time he bumps into something sound fairly unbothered). He pulls Eira down next to him, then beckons the others into a circle and produces a full matchbox from somewhere, dealing out one of the many forms of poker he's familiar with (if a game involves betting, Gwaine can play it, Arthur is pretty sure, and somehow he's incredibly good at getting the rest of them involved as well).

Merlin ambles over to them from time to time, taking a swig straight from the bottle and laughing at Arthur's ever dwindling pile of matchsticks (he's already on his third loan from the 'bank', and Merlin still isn't showing any sign of getting bored). "Thank you," he says, each time slightly more slurred, but Arthur really doesn't have the heart to cut him off when he looks so pleased to be here.

Two o'clock passes, and Arthur has a brief period of victory around half past, enough so that when Merlin flops down next to him, he actually looks surprised. "Is he cheating?" he asks the group at large, and Eira giggles; she matched Gwaine drink for drink for the first half hour, and it's still showing even though she's slowed down a lot by now.

"Not that we've seen," Leon answers, shuffling sideways and back a little bit so that Merlin's feet aren't in his lap anymore. "We aren't ruling it out, though."

Merlin grins, silly with glee and whatever it is in Gwaine's bottles, and they deal him in to the next hand of cards.

Over the course of the evening (well, morning, if Arthur's being particular) and their game, the rain has moved from a light mist to a steady pounding on the roof, but by the time Merlin joins them it's very definitely a downpour, thundering violently on the roof above them, and Gwaine is not pleased.

"This isn't supposed to be happening," he says again, and since he's just put down a royal flush and scraped together a mountain of matchsticks, Arthur figures he's not talking about the game. "Sorry, Merls."

"Yeah," Merlin agrees. "Because you control the weather, don't you?"

"It's been said," Gwaine says, and it's a testament to how drunk they are that most of them laugh with him. "Really, though, I'm sorry."

"Shut up and deal, moron," Merlin says, slumping against Arthur's side, his head hanging limply on his shoulder. "Maybe it'll clear up, anyway."

"Aye, maybe."

X

It doesn't, though, and by the time four a.m. rolls around and the thunder starts, Merlin's cheer has been replaced by a lazy kind of not-quite-maudlin. The others have mellowed a little, too, the ribaldry of earlier softening to an almost dozy happiness, and Arthur thinks they're all just waiting for someone else to call it a night.

"Come on," Merlin says eventually, peeling himself away from Arthur's side with a suddenness that leaves him feeling cold, even though Eira had flicked a switch she said was the heating when they came in. "The weather has made up its mind. We're not going to see anything tonight, might as well head home."

"Oh, thank God," Elyan mutters, enough enthusiasm in his voice that Arthur feels obliged to kick him across their make-shift card table; he may have included himself on the list of people who want to clear out, but this is Merlin's night and he isn't going to let anyone cock that up. "What were we hanging around for, anyway?" he continues, glaring at Arthur, possibly for the kick or possibly just because he still thinks this is Arthur's plan.

"Mercury, Venus and Jupiter," Merlin answers, like that explains everything. "They're in conjunction, should all be visible at the same time tonight. It's rare, and definitely worth seeing, but apparently Gwaine forgot to sort out the weather for us, so all we're seeing is clouds."

Gwaine takes the jibe with his usual good nature, scrambling up with a grin. "Come on, lads, I'll call a cab and then we can finish off the bottle before it gets here."

X

Gwaine being Gwaine, he drinks the lion's share of what's left himself, although, this being a special occasion, he does make an effort to get Merlin to drink a fair bit too; by the time the taxi arrives, Merlin is clinging to Arthur again, pliant in his arms, and Arthur decides it's necessary to bundle him in the back of the seven-seater with the others while he sits up front with the driver, making awkward conversation.

It's for the best, though, because every time he breathes next to Merlin he's welcoming temptation. Every time he breathes next to Merlin, it makes it harder to step away again.

The taxi disgorges people one or two at a time, until it's only him and Merlin and the handful of tenners Gwaine left him with to pay the driver, and Arthur has no idea what he wants. The part of his brain that's still sober, that still thinks like a decent human being...that is telling him to give the driver Merlin and Morgana's address and leave him there, with his fiancée, with Arthur's sister. The rest of him just wants Merlin, beside him, always, and after next week that won't be an option.

After next week, he won't even be able to pretend that Merlin is his anymore.

"Where to, lads?" the driver asks.

Arthur gives him his own address; he already hates himself for wanting everything Morgana has, and a few more hours of having Merlin to himself isn't going to make that any worse.

X

Merlin giggles and clings as they walk from the road to Arthur's door, continues to cling through his house, all the way to the spare room, where Arthur lets him go, dropping him on the bed and kneeling to pick at the knots in his shoelaces; Merlin has always struggled with tying a bow, battling his shoes off every day, and being drunk enough that Arthur isn't entirely sure he knows where he is right now won't help that.

It's not a simple task, particularly not when Arthur's brain seems determined to think of all the things he never normally lets himself think of. How soft Merlin's hands are as they thread through his hair, how close up, Arthur can see lines of muscle in Merlin's thighs that aren't normally visible, even through his jeans, how easy it would be to lean forwards and press his face to Merlin's crotch.

"Water," he says, standing up quickly before he can act on the impulse. "You need water, Merlin, or your head's going to be killing you tomorrow."

By the time Arthur returns with a full pint glass of water (straight from the tap, complete with ice cubes, because Merlin refuses to accept it any other way when he's drunk), Merlin has thrown his shoes to one side and hauled his legs up on to the bed, the whole long length of them sprawling before him, and when he beckons Arthur to sit down next to him, Arthur is a little too hypnotised to refuse. Merlin's hand closes around his, seemingly heedless of the glass Arthur is holding, and Arthur tingles everywhere they touch, from the tips of Merlin's fingers to where their thighs lie pressed together on the slightly too narrow bed.

"Before Morgana," Merlin says, with the seriousness that belongs only to the very drunk or the most earnest of break ups, and Arthur feels a little bit like this is both. "Before your sister, I thought I was gay."

Arthur really doesn't know what to say to that, but Merlin's complete lack of silence suggests he doesn't actually need to say anything at all.

"I mean," he continues, babblingly drunk, close enough that Arthur can feel warmth radiating from his skin, "I just...Most of the boys in our class were all about girls, you know, and I- I just wasn't. Once Morgana left, when you stopped trying to be horrible to me, I don't think I saw anything other than you."

"Drink your water," Arthur tells him, because he's not drunk enough to think that putting his hands over his ears and scrunching his eyes shut as he chants _not listening, I'm not listening_ is in any way a reasonable idea. "You'll regret it tomorrow if you don't."

Merlin obeys, his eyes wide and guileless, deeper than the ocean as he stares up at Arthur. Trusting, too, and every second Arthur's in his company he's betraying that trust, taking advantage.

"You were my world," he says when he's done, putting the empty glass on the bedside table. "You kind of still are, Arthur, at least as much as she is, and...Arthur. Just- Arthur."

_I can't listen to this_, Arthur thinks, but the words that spill from his lips aren't that. "You're marrying my sister," he says, and it sounds bitter and awful and just a little mournful.

"I am," Merlin agrees, and Arthur wonders if he realises just how fucked up this situation is, or if he's drunk enough that all there is is Arthur and the fog. He wonders how much alcohol it would take to keep Merlin here like this, here with Arthur and Arthur alone, caught together in a bubble of truths that seems eternal from the inside. "But even knowing that, I can't help but wonder what it would have been like.

"My wedding is a week away," he says, "And all I can think is that I want to kiss you while I still have the chance."

X

_It's okay to be selfish sometimes_, Morgana told him, once, so long ago, maybe before she left or maybe not so long after she got back. She was yelling at the time, furious at him for one reason or another, so mad at him for refusing to admit whatever secret she wanted him to own up to then, is probably still waiting for him to own up to. _You're allowed to have the things you want, Arthur_, she shrieked, right in his face, and if there's ever been a time he's wanted to follow through on that advice, it's now, even if he knows damn well that kissing her fiancé is _not_ what she meant.

"Oh, God," Merlin says when his words finally seem to catch up with him, his eyes gapingly wide, and Arthur is still so fucking speechless. "Pretend I never said that, please, Arthur. Please."

_It's okay to be selfish sometimes_, Morgana told him, and he knows she wouldn't want him to be selfish now, but it's late and they've both had several too many and Merlin won't remember saying any of this tomorrow, Arthur knows how it is with him. Merlin won't remember this in the morning, Merlin is marrying his sister a week tomorrow, Merlin is as good as offering Arthur everything he's ever wanted, only if for the night, and how the fuck is Arthur supposed to turn that down?

"Shut up, Merlin," he says. "In the name of all that is good, shut up."

"But-" Merlin starts, and Arthur cuts him off before he can get started, cuts him off with a single, quick press of lips. That's all he really ever intended to do, just kiss Merlin once, soft and sweet and gentle, just once and only once, before going to his own bedroom and closing the door, not to keep Merlin out but to keep himself in.

Once isn't enough, though, was never going to be enough, because when Arthur pulls back Merlin chases him, is halfway to sitting up before Arthur manages to break free of him.

Arthur will never be free of him.

_I'm sorry_, he thinks, but whether it's to Merlin or Morgana or even himself, maybe, he's really not sure. _I'm so sorry for this_, he thinks, and for a second his guilt wins.

Then Merlin licks his lips, like he can still taste Arthur there, like he wants to keep tasting him there forever, and the second is over.

Arthur kisses him again, making up for the softness of the first one with pressure now, flicking his tongue over Merlin's lips until Merlin opens for him, and then it feels a little like he's trying to climb inside, like if he kisses Merlin hard enough he'll never have to-

"Stop," Merlin says, and even if it's muffled by Arthur's mouth on his it's clear what it is; Arthur doesn't know how he's misread everything, all of the signs, all the things Merlin just said to him, but it seems pretty clear that he has, and he has no choice but to listen.

He pulls back, realising as he does so that he's climbed on top of Merlin, knees either side of his thighs, his left hand gripping the headboard beside Merlin's head, his right tangled in Merlin's hair. "I'm sorry," he says, still retreating, and this is why this was a bad idea. Merlin wants his sister, his twin, his other half. Merlin will never want him, not really. "God, Merlin, I'm so sorry."

"Shut up," Merlin answers, like they're taking it in turns, and Arthur tries to brace himself for the slew of curses that will follow, for Merlin spitting in his face and telling him to leave and never come back. _I never want to see you again_, Merlin will say, and even if this all will be a fuzzy blur tomorrow, something that Merlin will chalk up to his imagination if he remembers it at all, Arthur thinks hearing those words will break him anyway.

"Shut up," he says again, but instead of following it up with the words Arthur is both anticipating and dreading, he just crosses his arms over his stomach and peels the long sleeved t-shirt he's worn all evening up over his head. "Don't talk, Arthur. Just kiss me."

X

_It's okay to be selfish_, Arthur thinks, and he is. He is selfish, horribly, unforgivably selfish, and when Merlin half invites and half orders him to kiss him again, refusing is beyond impossible; Arthur kisses him, feels Merlin's lips crease into a smile beneath his own, feels Merlin welcome him with everything he is.

"Arthur," Merlin says, the first time they pause for breath, and Arthur doesn't know if it always sounds like that when Merlin say his name. It can't, logically, because Arthur would have noticed that hitch, that gasp, that desperate, wild hunger. He'd've noticed, responded, stolen the air from Merlin's lungs the same way he has to steal it now; he would have noticed, and yet, somehow, it's exactly the same, even though it's not, and that just proves that sense and logic and even thought have no place here. Not here.

"Arthur," Merlin says again, just his name, and then, "Arthur, please."

They've barely started anything and already Merlin sounds broken, shattered and shredded and just waiting for Arthur to put him back together again, and who is Arthur to refuse?

_I love you_, he thinks again, even thinks of actually saying it, but that is one truth too many, one truth that will make the world unbearable tomorrow. Instead, he resists when Merlin tries to drag him down on top of him again, resists as Merlin pouts at him, flushed and frowning like he can't work out why they aren't still kissing, and Arthur has to look away before he wonders the same thing, before he kisses Merlin again, before he comes in his pants like the inexperienced teenager he is such a long way from being.

"Please," Merlin says, begs, unashamed and so trusting it actually hurts.

"Hush," Arthur tells him, rising up onto his knees and shuffling backwards down the bed until he's almost at risk of falling off the bottom of it before shrugging off his own shirt, throwing it to the floor next to Merlin's. "Hush," he says, leaning back down and pressing a tiny, gentle kiss to the most ticklish place on Merlin's stomach, enjoying the way Merlin squirms under him, enjoying more the way he freezes when Arthur places a palm against him, rubbing once, twice, before unfastening his jeans and tugging them down his thighs.

"Hush," he says a third time, though Merlin is now so silent Arthur thinks he could hear a pin drop, were anyone around to drop one. "Merlin," he says, lowering his mouth to Merlin's cock, and it's the last word he manages for quite a while.


	7. Chapter 7

X 7 X

Afterwards, Arthur is wordless and breathless, unable to break eye contact with the man lying beside him, his Merlin, blinking sleepily at him, sated and satisfied, spoiled and utterly untouchable. His Merlin, Merlin who will never again be his.

"Stay here," Arthur says, sliding from the bed and zipping up the jeans he never made it as far as removing, just shoved down his thighs far enough to get a hand inside, too desperate to wait and Merlin too out of it to do much more than brush clumsy hands against his skin, mouth gasps against Arthur's neck and jaw and mouth, murmuring encouragements and his name and _come on, Arthur, come._

"It's okay," Arthur says, even though he's not stupid enough to believe it. He's retreating as he speaks, too, backing towards the door, unable to be in the same space as Merlin and his guilt anymore. "It's...I'll get a cloth, just- stay."

Merlin smiles, full of the trust that Arthur has so completely betrayed, and Arthur flees.

X

He locks the bathroom door behind him, something he's never done before with only Merlin in the house, but he has to, and even then it isn't enough.

He turns the shower up as hot as it will go before climbing in, shutting another door between him and Merlin. It burns, but it's nothing less than he deserves.

Merlin is asleep by the time Arthur returns to the spare room, feeling filthy but as clean as he's ever going to get, teeth brushed better than they ever have been in his life as he tries to get the taste of Merlin out of his mouth; on a scale of one to ten, Arthur thinks, wiping Merlin as clean as he can and tugging his pants up over his unresponsive limbs isn't really any worse than anything else he's done tonight.

He's hell-bound anyway; if letting Merlin forget will spare him regretting what they've done, Arthur will spare him.

X

Merlin wakes up slowly, but the pain in his head is enough to make him think that waking up at all is a mistake. He doesn't remember how much he drank last night (though the headache is definitely tequila-based, he's sure of that much), but he knows it's definitely a long time since he last had as much as that.

_Stupid Gwaine_, he thinks, feeling whimpery and pathetic, because the git spent the whole night helping Merlin drown himself in a whole variety of booze, probably drank way more than Merlin did, but chances are he'll be feeling fine and dandy this morning. Merlin just wants to go back to sleep, even if it does mean subjecting himself once more to the kind of Technicolor crazy-person dreams he really shouldn't be having a week before his wedding.

Still, staying huddled under his blankets crying about his hurting head isn't going to solve anything; he wriggles his way from the bed, feeling a little like a fish on dry land, flopping and gasping and dying slowly and painfully, but then it kind of serves him right for not saying no to any of the drinks shoved in his hand last night.

He shoves his legs into his jeans, then sniffs at his t-shirt just the once before deciding he's not going to wear it again (it stinks of alcohol, with a subtle undertone of sweat and perfume, probably from the girl whose breasts he could have done with being less acquainted with yesterday, and Merlin really doesn't want to deal with anything more complicated that the smell of washing powder). Arthur won't mind him stealing a shirt, he figures, leaving the guest room and tapping on Arthur's door, trying to act as though he didn't spend half of last night imagining impossible confessions and kisses between the two of them.

It's not the first time he's had overly vivid dreams of him and Arthur, but then it's not like he's never dreamed of anyone else, either. It doesn't mean anything, he tells himself, waiting for Arthur to answer, even if it was a little more vivid than usual, even if it left enough of an impression that his skin is still tingling.

There's no sound from Arthur's room, not even the irritable groans Arthur makes when he's waking up, and after a moment Merlin pushes open the door to find an empty room, no sign of Arthur at all, and no one to comment as Merlin digs around to find a shirt that won't be overwhelmingly huge on him.

Fully dressed (barring socks, but if the sight of his bare feet offends Arthur, that's just tough), Merlin goes downstairs to check the rest of the house, concern rising in him as he finds more and more rooms empty.

There's a note in the kitchen, though, in Arthur's ugly, hurried scrawl, telling Merlin that he had to rush out to work but to make himself at home.

"Already there," Merlin says, thinking of his borrowed shirt and wondering how on earth Arthur managed to muster up the energy to go in to work, even if it's an emergency; he's fairly sure Arthur didn't drink as much as him, but he still had a lot.

Still, he thinks, grabbing a couple of eggs from the fridge and breaking them into a pan. Just because Arthur isn't here, it doesn't mean he can't have breakfast.

X

Morgana is curled up on the sofa when he gets in, nursing a mug of coffee so huge it's practically a bowl, mostly buried under a blanket, all the curtains closed and the lights off.

"You too, huh?" Merlin asks, a little amazed she made it from their bed to the sofa; if he'd woken up in his own bed this morning, he'd probably still be there.

"Gwen is a demon," she answers, shuffling her legs up a little and pulling back the blanket to let him sit under it next to her. "You wouldn't know it to look at her, but she is a monster. I think we should kill her."

"You're scary," Merlin says, helping himself to a gulp of her coffee. "Can we add the rest of our friends to the list as well?"

She laughs, then winces at the noise, poking her toes into his thighs until he lifts them a little to let her burrow her feet underneath. "That bad?"

"Tequila," he answers, like that explains it all, and, again, she laughs. "Sambuca, too, I think," which adds a disgusted face to her laughter. "And then there was the lap-dancer," he adds, hoping that'll amuse her further.

It doesn't, though; Morgana starts at that, looking deeply surprised. "Arthur got you a lap-dancer?" She asks, sounding almost upset by the idea, and not just in the _my fiancé had a strange woman wiggling her tits in his face last night_ way.

"Gwaine did. Arthur..." he falters a little, not sure how to explain it, not even sure why Arthur did it. "I guess Arthur wasn't lying when he said he was really busy, because he had Gwaine organise it all in his place."

Morgana pouts, but something about her expression suggests that she's worked out a whole lot more than Merlin has. He doesn't ask, though, because experience tells him that Morgana never says more than she wants to, and what she wants to, she says.

Sure enough, instead of explaining anything, she just pouts more, tilting her head to one side and putting her coffee on the end table at her side of the sofa. "Was she pretty?" she asks.

Merlin grins, knowing exactly what this is, even if he's clueless about the rest of it. "Is there any other kind?"

"Prettier than me?"

"Only a little," he says. "Still, a little is enough. We're running away together, I only came back to get my stuff."

"Trollop," she says, but she's smiling as she leans in, his beautiful bride-to-be, and if Merlin feels guilty for his subconscious infidelity when she kisses him, it's only for a minute.

It was only a dream, that is all they will ever be, and dreams won't change how he feels.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes:** So, back to Monday again. Consistency? Really not my strong point. Please assume that [brackets] indicate a crossing out, because apparently ff.n doesn't think much of the strike-through going on in Arthur's speech. Expect replies soonish, and I hope you enjoy :) P

**X 8 X**

Morgana loves her father, mostly because he's her father and she's obliged to, but also because hidden under the bluster and the arrogance that, unfortunately, both she and Arthur inherited, there is a good man.

She loves her father, but that doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy the expression on his face when she, Merlin, and Gwen show up on his doorstep (or in the entrance hall, anyway, since Uther isn't prone to opening his own front door), each carrying an impressive amount of luggage.

"Hi, Dad," she says, revelling in the way his eyes boggle. "Merlin and I are getting married tomorrow, so we're staying here tonight. Hope that's not a problem."

Beside her, carrying the largest garment bag Morgana has ever seen, Merlin poorly smothers a laugh, and the only reason Gwen is silent is because she's far too polite to do so much as giggle, however much Morgana knows she wants to.

"Come in," Uther says eventually, ever the gracious host, even though he still looks astonished and also a little furious (but then she knew he would be; that only adds to the fun of it). "Take your bags upstairs. Morgana, put Guinevere in the blue room. Mr Emrys, you will sleep in your usual room. I'll see if Mary can't find something for you all to eat."

X

Arthur is in the midst of allowing himself one more evening of wallowing in the memory of being with Merlin – of being able to kiss him, hold him, treat him like someone beloved by him rather than by his sister – when his mobile rings.

He's not had enough beer to want to answer it (or, for example, to think that just because he's getting his one and only chance to sleep with Merlin it's actually a good idea to do it), but that also means his vision isn't blurry enough for him not to read his father's name on the display; when Uther calls, people answer, and Arthur has never been any different in that regard.

_Arthur isn't here right now_ he thinks, hitting the button to accept the call, but instead settles for the blandest, "Father," he can manage.

"Did you know about this?" Uther demands in place of a greeting, and perhaps it's the half dozen empties on the coffee table before him but Arthur cannot help but be sarcastic in response.

"Yeah," he says, "Sure, Father. I know everything, obviously."

"Arthur," Uther says, and if it's possible for a word to be halfway between a sigh and a snap, that one is. "Your sister and her fiancé have just appeared at the house and informed me that their wedding is tomorrow."

"Ah," Arthur says, hollow and unsurprised, sounding too much like the heartache he's feeling for him to be able to deny foreknowledge, and if he hadn't been expending all of his energy on not thinking about Merlin's upcoming nuptials, it might have occurred to him to try persuade Morgana to give their father slightly more than a single day's notice. "Sorry," he adds, because he's not so lost in his own abject misery that he doesn't wish he'd done something to avert his father's almost heart attack.

His father is silent for so long that Arthur wonders if he's hung up or passed out or, somehow, been abducted by aliens. There's no such thing, of course, and even if there were, Arthur imagines they probably wouldn't pick his father as an abduction candidate, but then a little over a week ago Arthur thought he'd never so much as kiss Merlin, so he's not particularly discounting the impossible right now.

He's contemplating ending the call and ringing back, or maybe phoning Morgana so that he can get her to check on Uther (however much he doesn't want to see or speak to or even really be related to her anymore, he doesn't really think that's an option), when his father finally finds words.

"Thank you, Arthur," Uther says softly, with a distressing level of compassion to it. "I shall see you tomorrow."

"Yes," Arthur agrees; as little as he wants to be there, he has already agreed to it. Merlin is counting on him being there, Morgana may be as well, and Arthur cannot let them down, however much it hurts him. "See you at the church."

X

Morgana wakes up gasping in the face of the dread that fills her, acutely aware of both what today is and just how wrong it is for her to be feeling like this. It isn't cold feet, because that doesn't even come close to describing how she feels. She doesn't feel like marrying Merlin today is going to be a mistake, because she knows full well how awful a thing it is she is doing, knows that part of herself already regrets it.

It's not really a mistake, not when she's doing it consciously, deliberately, but that probably only pushes it even further away from being the right thing.

She does love Merlin, though, even if that's the only defence she can provide for herself.

Still, breakfast waits for no woman, and she'd quite like a decent meal before confronting the conflicting emotions prompted by her wedding; Morgana pushes back the quilt with decidedly less enthusiasm than she imagines most brides do, pulls her dressing gown on over her pyjamas and scrapes her hair back into a bun before going downstairs.

Merlin is already in the kitchen when she gets there, laughing with Gwen as she makes pancakes; Mary, Uther's housekeeper/chef/anything else Uther needs her for (a woman of many hats, she is) has Saturdays off, and Gwen is incapable of letting anyone be hungry in her presence.

"'Gana!" he exclaims, leaping to his feet and pretty much skipping over to her, giddy to such a degree that Morgana feels a little concerned. "It's today," he announces, dragging her into a hug, then some kind of wonky, ridiculous waltz that has Gwen cracking up.

"I'm so glad you said yes," he whispers into her ear, then spins her with surprising grace, again and again, until Morgana is laughing as hard as he and Gwen are, dizzy and delighted and loud enough that she doesn't hear her father approaching until he's in the room with them, pyjama-clad and glaring.

"I do not care if today is your wedding day," he says, grim and probably not what most people can describe as fatherly, but for Morgana that tone is pretty much the most common feature of her childhood. "It is eight in the morning. Have some respect."

"Sorry, sir," Merlin says, and Morgana fights off another round of laughter. "We didn't mean to wake you."

"Stop sucking up," Morgana tells him, nudging him in the direction of the table. "Gwen, how's breakfast looking?"

"The pancakes are almost ready," Gwen says. "Would you like the first one, Mr Pendragon?"

Morgana expects more anger, or at least a brusque refusal, which is why it's such a surprise when Uther smiles, joining her and her fiancé at the table.

X

Arthur isn't ready, but then he's fairly sure he never will be.

Today is the day everything changes, more irreversibly than anything ever has before, and he isn't ready.

He has a speech to give, telling all of his sister's family and friends – all of _Merlin's_ family and friends – how happy he is for them, and even if the speech is written, he's not ready to give it.

He's not even ready to leave this toilet cubicle, the one he's spent the last half hour locked away in, alternately scribbling furiously and chewing the blue Bic he's used to write his speech, which makes it even more inconvenient that Gwaine is standing outside trying to work up the courage to tap on the door.

"I know you're there," he says eventually, not sure whether he's grateful that Gwaine is checking up on him or not.

"I know," Gwaine answers, just as quiet as Arthur is, the cubicle door shaking slightly as he leans against it. "Way I figure it, you're trying to enter the Guinness book of world records for the biggest shit ever or you're hiding, and either way I don't know if that's something I want to interrupt. But if you're Merls's best man, I'm guessing that means that I'm yours for the day, so I've got to ask. You alright, Pendragon?"

Arthur laughs, even though it's really not funny, then decides he might as well answer anyway, just for good measure. "About as far from it as I can be, actually."

"Figured as much, yeah," Gwaine says, sighing in a way Arthur would usually just find exaggerated and ridiculous but today actually has a ring of compassion to it. "You wanna swap?"

_Yes_, Arthur thinks, even if he doesn't have a clue what he's talking about. Then again, miserable as he is, it's Gwaine, so it's probably safer to have a little more information before agreeing. "I don't follow."

"Simple," Gwaine says. "You give me the rings and I'll be best man; you can stand at the bottom of the steps opposite Freya, the lowly third groomsman."

For a moment, Arthur considers it, and it feels like one of the longest moments of his life.

X

"There," Morgana says, applying a final swipe of lipstick as Gwen stabs the last pin into her hair. "How do I look?"

"I hate you," Gwen answers, which Morgana figures can probably be taken as a compliment.

"I hate you, too, Gwen," she says, then laughs. "You look gorgeous," she adds, and Gwen does, resplendent in burgundy, the same shade as the embroidery on Morgana's own dress, the pins holding her hair in place, the decorations on her shoes, everything but the royal blue garter on her right thigh.

Old, Merlin's mother's ring; new, pretty much everything she's wearing; blue, the garter; and borrowed…

Well, if she was a good enough person to think of that one, they wouldn't be here in the first place.

X

Arthur is decidedly late – and still feeling an eternity or more from being ready – when he walks into the little room at the back of the church and finds Merlin trying to strangle himself with his bow-tie.

"You know," he says, while Merlin looks at him beseechingly. "If you didn't want to marry her, you could just have said so. Suicide isn't the answer, Merlin."

"Git," Merlin answers, thankfully too busy trying to extract himself from the mess he's in to notice how far from joking Arthur's voice is. He struggles a little longer, until Arthur is beginning to think strangulation is a genuine risk. "Help," he says eventually, his right hand still at his neck, and it's then that Arthur realises that whatever knot he's tied, he's also managed to tie himself into it.

"Idiot," he says, with all the same fondness it usually has, standing almost toe to toe with Merlin and trying to pretend his hands aren't shaking. He hasn't seen him since that night, hasn't spoken to him, has barely even replied to his text messages, and he still isn't ready for it, ready for Merlin's breath warm on his skin, Merlin's eyes staring into his from only centimetres away, Merlin's mouth close enough to kiss.

And Merlin looks at him like nothing ever happened, like everything is normal, and Arthur almost wishes he was right, or maybe just that Merlin's ignorance could be his as well.

"There," he says, smoothing down the tie and stepping back. "You're done."

"Thank you," Merlin says, and Arthur has all the time in the world to watch his hand move but it's still a surprise when it reaches his face, his fingers cradling Arthur's jaw, thumb resting at the corner of his mouth, and Arthur doesn't know how to react. For a moment, the images in his head are perfect, heaven-sent, and he lets himself believe them.

Merlin's hand is on his face, and any second now he'll move, or Arthur will, and all will be right in the world. _I'm calling it off_, Merlin will say, and Arthur will breathe a kiss on Merlin's thumb, or Merlin will go all out and pull him into a proper kiss, messy and desperate and honest. _I remember_, Merlin will say. _I know where I'm meant to be, now_, he'll say, and Arthur will allow the sun to rise again.

"Arthur," Merlin says, close and perfect and the only thing Arthur will ever really want. "You have blue on your face."

X

"Are you ready?" Gwen asks, fidgeting with the bow on the back of Morgana's dress. "Your father's here."

"I'm ready," Morgana answers, and she is.

X

"We ready, lads?" Gwaine asks, as the music starts up and the doors at the bottom of the church open.

"Ready," Lancelot and Merlin answer simultaneously, and Arthur knows why Merlin's voice has a grin in it but Lancelot he's not so sure about.

"Ready," Arthur echoes, wondering how close to pathological he is right now.

X

"Should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony," the vicar says, and for the first time since Morgana entered the church, Arthur looks up and meets his sister's eyes over Merlin's shoulder, not quite able to believe she's actually doing this to him. "Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

_Please_, Morgana's eyes say, although Arthur has no idea if it's _please, say something _or _please, don't_; by the time Arthur has decided it doesn't matter, he wants to object either way, things have already moved on.

X

He should be happy, Arthur knows. He should be happy for them, his sister and his best friend of seventeen years, as they embrace, as they kiss like they're never coming up for air, as their friends and family cheer and the bells ring triumphant.

If he was a better person, he'd be thrilled, ecstatic, over-the-moon happy, but he's not.

There was never really any chance for him and Merlin, God does he know that, but that doesn't mean his heart isn't breaking.

X

_I've known Merlin for a long time, and Morgana for even longer, which is why I knew I couldn't refuse when they told me to show up here today (pause for laughter). I tried, of course, because anything involving my best friend and my twin sister – we're identical, don't you know, or so she wanted to convince me when we were kids – was always going to be chaotic._

_We weren't always friends, [__mostly because my sister is a psychotic bitch who tried to bully me into cross-dressing]__, but then it's not easy to be friends with the lunatic who grew up trying to get you to wear her dresses, or the lunatic who stood by and laughed as she did it. I've fought with both of them a lot, and, I'm a little embarrassed to say, not always with words, but I don't know that I've ever seen the two of them argue with each other. Since my sister is probably one of the most unreasonable people to walk this earth, that's really saying something._

_Of course, endlessly praising my sister isn't what this speech is for, and I'm trying to take my best man responsibilities seriously – though, really, if you wanted the man with all the jokes and the stripper connections, you should have listened to me when I told you to pick Gwaine, Merlin – so let's talk a bit more about the groom._

_The first thing I thought when I saw Merlin was that his dad was probably an elephant – no offence, Hunith (smile winningly, Arthur, you can manage that much) – and, actually, that was the first thing I said to him, too. Imagine my surprise when the scrawny stick-insect new-kid punched me in the face, then cried so much that not only did my own sister abandon me to comfort him, but I was also grounded for the next six weeks, even if I was the victim in all of it._

_For a good few years, that moment was probably the highlight of our [__relationship__] [__acquaintance__] [__time spent knowing each other__] [__for God's sake, Arthur, you can say relationship without anyone working out what happened__] relationship. I didn't like Merlin, Merlin didn't like me, and if Morgana hadn't [__slept with anyone who looked at her__] [__had one indiscretion too many and been packed off__] gone away for school, that would probably never have changed, and you'd be listening to [__some other miserable git__] someone else right now._

_The thing about Merlin is, you can ignore him or yell at him or just generally be an obnoxious prick to him, but he won't quit. I did all of this, and he'd still show up every evening after school wanting to play video games or borrow a book or a film, and God forbid I ever told him no. He stuck around, no matter how much I tried to get rid of him, and apparently his absolute conviction that we were friends was contagious, because my father stopped trying to get rid of him as well, at which point the only thing I could do was give in._

_And now we're grown up – or so says the law, anyway, although you wouldn't know it if you'd seen him when we walked past a playground a fortnight ago – and he's married to my sister._

_He's still an annoying git sometimes, and his ears are still ridiculous – seriously, Hunith, where did they come from? – but I am entirely serious when I say that he is probably the best man I know. I don't know what heinous deed he did in a past life to end up shackled to you for the rest of his life, Morgana, but he's happy, and THAT'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME._

_So, I'd like you all to join me in raising a glass to the bride and groom, Merlin and Morgana. [__May your time together be both long and happy.__]_

X

"Come on," Merlin calls, rapping on the door of Morgana's favourite bathroom in the Pendragon home (that the place has multiple bathrooms is bad enough, but that there's enough for his wife – his _wife_ – to have a favourite is an eternal source of wonder to Merlin). "Taxi's waiting. Hurry up, or we'll miss our flight."

The door unlocks and Morgana steps out, her hair still hanging in wet curls down her back, just as stunning in jeans and a t-shirt and barely any makeup at all as she was yesterday in her dress and gems and dangerously high heels. "I'm ready," she says, holding out a hand for him to take and returning his smile. "Let's go, husband."

X

_Just this_, Arthur tells himself, standing in the driveway of his once-home, waiting to wave Morgana and Merlin off on their honeymoon. He's not the only one there – Morgana knows how to throw a party, so it's hardly a surprise that her wedding reception carried on so long into the night that the vast majority of guests are still here the following morning – but he's probably the only one struggling to get into the party spirit.

It's just this, though, and then he's done. No more Merlin, no more Morgana, no more of the _don't they look happy together, you must be so pleased for them, Arthur _he's been hearing for the last twenty four hours. No more of any of it, until he's over this, until he can see Merlin without being back to that night a week ago, without remembering what he tastes like and feels like and the way he looks when he comes undone in Arthur's mouth, until he can look at his sister without his guilt killing him.

_Just this_, he thinks, _this and no more_.

The hand landing on his shoulder makes him jump, and Arthur figures it's Gwaine or Lancelot or someone, trying to be supportive. He doesn't turn, because seeing them won't help, will probably only hurt, and the sight of Merlin and Morgana walking out of the house hand-in-hand already hurts enough.

The pair of them climb into the car, laughing and flinging hugs around like they're going away forever, not just for a couple of weeks, and Arthur wonders if anyone has ever hated their sister as much as he hates his right now.

Even so, he's unable to stop watching as their taxi drives off, unable to turn his back and go inside, even as everyone else trickles away, leaving him almost alone on the steps.

"You made me proud today, son," Uther says, and the hand tightens on his shoulder, the closest thing to a hug his father is capable of. "I have a bottle of '76 Glenfiddich in the library, Arthur. I strongly suggest we open it."

X

_They must be at the airport by now_, Arthur thinks, far drunker than he was just over a week ago and never mind that it's barely lunchtime. He's an idiot and an arsehole and he might as well be drunk for all that it matters right now.

He made a mistake, or made a hundred, more like, and there's no taking any of them back.

He should have said something yesterday, during the ceremony, or before it, to Merlin. A week ago, when he left Merlin to wake up alone in his house, a week and a day ago when Merlin was telling him _you were my world_ and _I don't think I saw anything other than you _and _don't talk, Arthur. Just kiss me_. Months ago, when Merlin asked him to be best man, or just before that, when Morgana told him Merlin was going to propose, told Arthur to tell her not to. All those years in the past, when he first walked in on them kissing and it felt like a rug had been pulled out from under his feet, like something had changed forever without any hope of it being put back, put right.

He should have said something, and maybe he wouldn't feel so awful right now.

"Father," he says, and Uther looks up, turning his gaze from the newspaper spread across his lap and the tumbler of whisky that's emptying a hell of a lot slower than Arthur's have been.

"Arthur," Uther replies, and under the pressure of being the focus of Uther's gaze, Arthur almost tells him it's nothing, even though it isn't.

"Father," he says again, and then, as Uther looks increasingly concerned, "I'm gay."

All at once, his father's brow uncreases, as much as it ever does. "I am aware of that fact, Arthur."

"I know," Arthur shrugs, then explains. "I've never said it before, though, to anyone. I wanted to see how I'd feel if I did."

"And how do you feel?"

Arthur puts an awful lot of consideration into his answer, because his father actually sounds like he wants to know and that is a far better reaction than Arthur had anticipated his statement getting. How does he feel, though? He feels tired and bereft, bereaved, though neither his sister nor the man he loves are dead. He feels guilty and ghastly and so ugly it's beyond forgiveness. He feels lost, missing a limb, missing his life.

"Drunk," he says eventually, and Uther's only response is to offer Arthur the bottle and the saddest smile he's ever seen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes:** Just a tiny one tonight, more tomorrow to make up for my absence this week :)

**X 9 X**

Merlin knew getting married would change things. He knew it would mean that they would be inseparable in people's minds, Merlin-and-Morgana, buy one and get the other chucked in for free whether or not you wanted both. He knew Morgana would start signing things as Morgana Emrys, even if that knowledge surprised him at first because he'd've thought she was the type to keep her own name. He knew that they'd get some kind of tax credit, that he'd have to declare his marital status when filling in some forms, that when he introduced Morgana to people as his wife, they'd blink at him in surprise but, for the most part, be too polite to comment on how utterly out of his league she is. He knew things would be different.

He never realised Arthur would hate him for it, though.

X

It's not obvious at first, mostly because they're on their honeymoon and, apart from a quick text to let everyone know that they've got there safely, he hasn't contacted home, and home has returned the favour by leaving the pair of them to enjoy their newly-wedded bliss in peace. Merlin spends mornings dragging Morgana around museums and galleries, trying not to say _I told you not to wear those heels_ whenever she complains about her feet hurting; in return, she doesn't laugh at his afternoons full of put-upon sighs as he follows her from one shop to another, weighed down with her many purchases.

In the evenings, they go back to their hotel room, sometimes stopping for dinner on the way. If not, Merlin leaves Morgana to call for room service while he sets the hot tub in their ridiculously enormous bathroom running, and after that point the only thing on his mind is his wife.

He's happy, so happy that he can hardly believe it's going to last, but even if it's only for the moment, that surely has to be good enough.

X

It is with great reluctance that Arthur answers his mobile when Gwaine calls him on Friday, but then since Gwaine has been his main source of both companionship and alcohol over the fortnight his sister and Merlin have been away, he feels obliged to do so. He doesn't feel obliged to be polite, but then he's yet to encounter any good deed that would make him consider it absolutely necessary to be polite to Gwaine.

"What?" he says, gruff, trying to ignore how much he sounds like his father.

"Good evening, sunshine," Gwaine answers, stupidly bright, unpleasantly cheery. "Just letting you know that I can't make our little margarita and moping session this evening."

"Oh," Arthur says, and it's a bad state of mind to be in when that news actually makes him feel worse. Though, actually... "I know I've not really been sober lately, but I think I'd remember if I'd had margaritas."

"Alliteration, alchy," Gwaine says, and Arthur resists the urge to make a quip about how that's an impressively big word for him. "Look, though, we're making welcome home banners for Merlin and Morgana, so that we can meet them at the airport tomorrow. I offered to invite you, figured it'd save you the trouble of coming up with an excuse if it was me."

"Oh," Arthur says again. "Thanks, I guess."

"Welcome, princess," Gwaine drawls, and it's an even sorrier state of affairs that the nickname doesn't bother him anymore. "I'll pop by tomorrow evening, if you want?"

"Whatever," Arthur answers, then hangs up, safe in the knowledge that Gwaine knows him well enough to take that as a yes.

X

It's not obvious when they're away, but as soon as Merlin gets back, he notices.

Arthur isn't at the airport with everyone else to greet them, nor does he appear at the restaurant they all go to for lunch. He's not at Gwen and Lancelot's welcome home supper, nor does he leave a note apologising for his absence the way Gwaine does.

He doesn't pick up when Merlin calls to say hello when they get home. He doesn't pick up on Sunday, when Merlin tries to set up a time for him to give Arthur the gift they bought on the trip, a replica of a sword belonging to one hugely famous emperor or another and a complete bitch to get through airport security.

He's not in his office when Merlin goes by on Monday, and he's still not there on Tuesday. On Wednesday, when Merlin doesn't get the chance to go over there, his emails bounce back, and Merlin tries to tell himself it must be an IT fault rather than because Arthur is blocking him.

Thursday evening, he stands on Arthur's doorstep for half an hour, watching the closed curtains twitch and then swearing at the locked door until one of the neighbours calls the police on him, and it is only because of who Morgana is that he doesn't actually end up under arrest.

Friday night, Morgana calls him out on his being "a grumpy, irritable git, as bad as Arthur, honestly," then demands that he explain why. Merlin does, feeling awful, like he's done something unforgivable, and when he's done Morgana apologises, hugs him, then gets down on her knees and does her best to make good on her promise to make him forget about it.

"I love you," he says after, kissing the taste of himself from her mouth, then following as she leads him to their bedroom and proceeds to make him forget about it all over again.

"I love you," he says, and resolves to give Arthur another week, maybe two, to come to terms with this huge change in all of their lives, this change that Merlin doesn't even think he would have made if he'd known Arthur would hate him for it.

He'll give Arthur another week, maybe two, and then he'll consider starting to pester him again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes:** See, I can sometimes keep my word. I haven't managed to do so with review replies, but _I will_. Cross my hearts...

**X 10 X**

"You're avoiding me," Merlin says, and for someone so utterly clumsy he's damn good at sneaking up on people. He's grinning, too, and the best case scenario Arthur can imagine is that he thinks Arthur's imminent heart attack is funny. The alternative, that Merlin isn't just suspecting Arthur is avoiding him but actually knows it, and knows why, and remembers just how badly Arthur took advantage of him...That is just bloody awful.

Of course, if Merlin remembered he'd probably hate him rather than look amused, so it probably isn't that, but...But.

"Can't you whistle, or something?" Arthur snaps, because it's by far the easiest response.

"Yes," Merlin says, dripping with sarcasm, grinning like he always does. "Because who doesn't walk around the supermarket whistling."

Arthur frowns, since he's damn well not going to say Merlin has a point. He doesn't know what to say, though, still, because Merlin is right and he really doesn't know how to explain it, how to explain why he can't stand being in Merlin's presence any longer. The initial answer is simple – _we slept together when you were drunk, you married my sister, and I can't bear seeing you happy with her_ – but the aftermath of saying it will probably kill him.

"Look," Merlin says, and he's still beaming at Arthur like he's the first glimpse of the sun after the longest night, like Arthur is and always with be the dawn to him. "I get that it's maybe a bit odd for you, what with that whole _married to Morgana_ thing I have going on, and I can already hear you calling me a girl for this, but you're still my best mate and I miss you."

"You're a girl," Arthur says, because that's what he's meant to do now, even if what he feels is more along the lines of _I miss you, too_. There's no way he's saying that, though, and certainly no way Arthur's challenging him on the best mate comment, _Is that really all we are, _Mer_lin?_ because however angry it would sound in his head it wouldn't come out that way, and Merlin cannot know. Merlin must never know.

He sticks a bag of muesli in his trolley, then a box of Weetabix just for good measure, heading down to the end of aisle and halfway up the next one before he realises Merlin hasn't got his own trolley, or even a basket. "Did you actually come here to buy something, or was it just that you saw me on your way past?"

"We're out of milk," Merlin replies, and Arthur decides to pretend that's an answer.

"You'll want the fridges, then," he says, and he's both proud and sickened by how bland he sounds, like he's offering directions to a stranger, and Merlin's expression finally starts to droop a little. "Straight down to the end, then left. I'm sure you'll find them."

Merlin's shoulders slump and he stops following Arthur, stops smiling; it's like the sun has gone behind a cloud, and just knowing that he's making Merlin look like that has Arthur feeling worse than he did all the time he was trying to stay away from him, almost as bad as he did that night, months ago now, when Merlin looked at him like he was the world and Arthur betrayed that, betrayed his best friend and his sister and himself.

"Never mind," Merlin tells him, growing darker by the second. "I'll let you shop in peace, Arthur. Call me when you get bored of whatever this is."

By the time Arthur works out a way to call him back that doesn't involve the awkward, uncomfortable truth of his (ugly, absolutely not platonic) feelings, Merlin is long gone.

X

Morgana, though, is not; where Arthur has managed to put a little distance between himself and Merlin since the wedding, since the week before the wedding, he has only managed to bring his sister to the foreground of his life, and, mostly, she is pissed off.

"He's moping so much," she says, hopping up onto his desk and taking a slurp of his coffee, then grimacing at the taste; Arthur doesn't even try not to be amused, because she has to know he'd never deign to drink one of her stupid, sweet, pseudo-coffees. "I just don't understand why you won't spend any time with him anymore."

"Things are different now, Morgana," he says, and if it was anyone other than Morgana confronting him he'd probably put his head in his hands, but Arthur is damned if he'll show his sister that much weakness. "You know they are."

Morgana swings her legs a little, her skirt rucking up enough that Arthur can see the lace at the top of her thigh-highs, and he's struck with the image of Merlin kneeling before her, rolling them down, kissing each inch of skin he reveals. Of Merlin, looking at him like he was the world. Of Merlin, begging him for more, _please, Arthur, don't stop, please_. Of Merlin, his words turning into gasps and breathy moans, desperate, wordless pleas.

Of Merlin, drunk.

"It's different," he says again, and doesn't know whether he's talking about the situation as a whole or if it's just the complete lack of similarities between his one and only night with Merlin and Morgana's whole life and happy future with him.

"I don't see how," she answers, taking another sip of his coffee; masochism clearly runs in their family, although Arthur thinks he's probably got it worse than she has (Merlin, his fingers twisting through Arthur's hair as Arthur goes down on him, pulling and begging, slurring, wanting _more, Arthur, please more_).

"So what that we're married now? Merlin and I have been dating for years," she says, and Arthur doesn't know where she usually draws the line between kind and cruel but he thinks she's crossing it today. "We were engaged, Arthur. That usually ends in marriage."

"I know," Arthur says, but he doesn't have anything more to follow it up with; when in doubt, go for repetition (God, does he wish he could repeat it, only with them both sober and probably so much better for that fact). "I know, Morgana."

"What's the problem, then?" She asks, with prickles so huge they're thorns, barbs, her every word drawing blood. "What's so wrong with Merlin being my husband, baby brother?"

"Don't call me that!" Arthur snaps, standing up too fast, so quickly that he feels a little dizzy, and Morgana leaps to her feet as well, ready to fight back.

"Why not? It's what you are, isn't it?"

"I'm not."

She circles the desk, stepping, _pushing_, into Arthur's space, pushing because she's never known how to do anything else, and no one ever told Arthur how to retreat either, to see it as stepping out of a fight rather than losing one. "You are, Arthur, and you always will be. My little, irritable, emotionally-stunted _baby_ _brother_."

"I'm _not_."

"Not what?" she asks, and laughs, condescending and beautiful and Arthur hates her. He _hates_ her. "Little, sure, maybe you're not. But this conversation makes denying the irritable kind of difficult, and after how many opportunities I gave you to object to the wedding, you can't even start to argue that you're not emotionally stunted. Fuck, Arthur, stunted is being kind."

"You can go now," Arthur says, because he can't argue this with her. "Fuck off back to your shiny new marriage, Morgana, and leave things between me and Merlin the fuck alone. It's better this way."

Morgana takes a step back, and for a second Arthur is stupid enough to think she's actually going to leave him in peace. She isn't, of course, because _leaving in peace_ isn't in her nature, but she does seem to soften slightly. "Why, Arthur? Merlin's miserable, you're…being like this, all the time. How is it possibly better for you to ignore him?"

"I can't tell you," Arthur says, even though he knows that he's only admitting that there's something to tell, that he's essentially (in Morgana's twisted mind, anyway) giving her permission to keep asking. "It just is."

"Why?"

"Stop, Morgana. For once in your life, let something go."

"Why?" She asks a second time, something of a smirk to it, and if Arthur was an even lesser man than he is, he'd follow through on his wish to smack that stupid, smug expression from her face.

"Drop. It," he manages, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

"_Why?!_"

Something snaps inside of him, a spring coiled too tightly and given no room to ease the compression, coiled until it is destroyed, worthless, irreparable.

"Because I slept with him," Arthur answers, loud, unintended, and for a second he thinks his rage possibly matches hers. Only a second, though, and then the horror of what he just said hits him fully; he collapses back into his chair, landing so hard that the lifting mechanism gives in and the chair sinks as low as it will go, leaving him staring up at his sister, at the utter confusion on her face.

Finally, Morgana retreats, steps backwards until her back hits the wall, and, "You never told me," she says, and she sounds like she did the day Uther told her he was sending her away, _please, Daddy, don't make me go_, young and hopeless and surprised that her family could ever betray her like that, like this. "Merlin never told me."

Arthur forces himself to make eye-contact, even though it causes him almost physical pain, but he can't retreat and he doesn't know how else to repent. "I don't think he remembers," Arthur says, like it's any kind of explanation, like any explanation at all could make this better, like there is anything at all that could make sleeping with his sister's fiancé and keeping it a secret okay.

"You don't think he remembers," she answers, her scepticism bordering on tangible (it would feel like ice, Arthur thinks, like the massive icicles that form in countries much colder than England, hanging threateningly overhead, ready to drop and impale some poor, unwary bastard).

"He was drunk," Arthur continues. "Walking-into-walls drunk, and I wasn't exactly stone-cold sober, and it was about the stupidest thing I've ever done." _And I regret it,_ he thinks of saying, only he doesn't, not really. He regrets that it happened like that, that Merlin wouldn't have wanted it any other way, but even if it's destroying his mind and his life and his relationship with everyone he's ever known, he doesn't know how to wish it undone.

Morgana half-laughs, and it's only when she says, "I don't know, brother, it's quite a list to choose from," that he realises how much she doesn't understand yet; Morgana thinks it was a long time ago, before she came back, when he and Merlin were just dumb teenagers and Arthur's closet was so huge and dark that even he didn't realise he was in it.

He can't enlighten her, though, because if he tells the truth Morgana will hate Merlin just as much as she'll hate him, and Arthur can't do that. He can destroy his own happiness, betray himself and the two people he loves most in this world, but he can't take them with him when he falls. Merlin has a good thing going with Morgana, better than anything Arthur's ever had, and he won't take that from him.

His sister works it out, though, much too quickly, because up until a week before her wedding, _the_ wedding, Arthur wasn't doing anything he could not to be in Merlin's presence. "When was this, Arthur?"

"I..."

"Answer me."

_I can't_, he thinks, but Morgana will only give him that look she's so good at, will only tell him, _No, Arthur, you won't_, and he knows he won't be able to argue that it's the same thing. "Don't ask, Morgana," he says instead. "Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to."

"When, Arthur_?_" she says, and she's furious, furious enough that Arthur knows she knows, knows that she's only really asking for confirmation. "I might not want to know, but I have to, so you better goddamn tell me _when!_"

"His stag night," Arthur says, and all the stuff he's ever heard about confession being good for the soul, making people feel better...bullshit. Absolute bullshit. "A week before your wedding," he adds, just in case the secret to the healing powers of confession is telling even more truth (it isn't).

"You had sex with my husband a week before our wedding."

"Technically," Arthur answers, despite the fact that it wasn't a question and that, even if it was, this reply is about the most stupid thing he can say right now, "Technically, he wasn't your husband then."

He half expects her to slap him for that, and knows one hundred percent that he would deserve it if she did. He's braced for it, too, ready for his sister to whale on him like she should, and when she steps forwards to stand beside him, that's what he's sure is about to happen.

Straightforward violence has never been Morgana's style, though, as well he knows. Whenever he's pissed her off in the past, she's always gone for the sneak-attack, open tins of tuna hidden at the bottom of his underwear drawer and hair-dye in his shampoo, things he never discovered until it was too late and he had green hair and was going commando because all his boxers stank of rotten fish.

Now is no different: when Morgana picks up his now-cold mug of coffee, he almost thinks she's going to drink it, or maybe tip it over his head, but she doesn't. She picks it up, swirls it around a bit like she's looking for the future in the dregs of a cup of tea, then upturns it on his pristine, immensely expensive laptop.

It sparks, sputters a little, and then dies, and Arthur can't think of a better metaphor for this moment than that.

"You were right," his sister says, his twin, one half of the other half of his soul. "It is better this way. The next time I see you near Merlin, I'll... Well, I'll never see you near Merlin again, Arthur."

She turns, leaving the wreck of his life and his laptop smoking in her wake, pausing for a moment in the doorway on her way out. "You know," she says, and the soft heartbreak in her voice is worse than all the rage in the world. "All you had to do was say something and you could have had him. I love him, but you were my brother, Arthur. You just had to ask me."

"I know," Arthur admits, because he does, he did; he knew, all along, that a word from him and everything could have been different, but it was only when it was too late that he realised he might actually have benefited from speaking that word. Even now, when all he can see when he tries to sleep at night is Merlin's expression as he stared down the aisle at his bride, Arthur isn't sure anything good could have come of him objecting. "I'm sorry."

"I don't care," she says, neither soft nor raging now. Just herself, Morgana, beyond a doubt the fiercest, strongest person he's ever known. "I don't forgive you," she finishes, her hand on the door handle, and Arthur suddenly realises he still has something else to say, something else he _has _to say, the only thing he can possibly justify saying to her right now.

"Please," he gasps, and it feels ridiculous and horrible and far too heartfelt, but his stupidity has already pretty much ruined his own life and he needs to get this out because he'd rather it didn't fuck up Merlin's, too. "Don't blame Merlin, please, Morgana."

"I don't," she answers, and there's thunder in her eyes. "I blame you."

X

Merlin gets home late on Thursday, opens the door preparing apologies and explanations, only to find the house aggressively clean, bags of rubbish stacked on top of and around the wheelie bin outside, even more bags of old clothes and books and knick-knacks in the hall by the front door, waiting for the next charity collection sack that gets put through the letterbox. It's terrifying, and it only gets more so when he walks into the kitchen and finds Morgana kneeling on the floor, scrubbing it to within an inch of its life, either oblivious to or ignoring the tears pouring down her face.

A little part of him wants to leave again, sneaking out before she even realises he's there, because Morgana can be a little intimidating at the best of times; the only other occasion Merlin's seen her cry was the day Uther packed her off to school, and he's fairly sure the shrieking during the argument that followed reached a pitch not actually audible to human beings. He can't, though, because part of _for better or for worse _probably involves dealing with Morgana in her slightly less friendly moments, and it certainly means holding her when she cries.

"'Gana?" he asks, and sees her jump only too literally. "What's up, love?"

X

Morgana looks up at him, part of her wishing she didn't have to, but he is her husband and she has to know if Arthur was right when he said Merlin didn't remember; everything she does now depends on that, because she's known all along that there is something there, something between Merlin and Arthur, and she loves him regardless. She loves him, she married him, and neither of those two facts is at all altered by what she learnt this afternoon. She loves him, and she has to know.

"What's up, love?" he asks, and somehow, after what Arthur told her, she didn't think he'd call her that anymore.

Words stick in her throat, so many of them, all of them, and she swipes at the tears on her face; she was supposed to be done with this by the time Merlin got home, was supposed to be herself again, if not happy then at least not like this. "It's nothing," she says, holding his gaze, because everything she needs to know will be there. "I went to see Arthur at work today. He said something I didn't really want to hear."

Merlin doesn't flinch at that, doesn't grimace, doesn't give any sign at all that he knows what Arthur might have told her, and Morgana believes it. His eyes tell her everything, as they always have, and in this, Arthur is right. Whatever happened, after the drinks and the clubs and the observatory and the taxi ride back to Arthur's, Merlin doesn't remember. Merlin isn't keeping this horrible, awful, unforgivable secret from her; she is the one who will keep it from him. She and Arthur, united in this one final thing.

"What did he say?" he asks, kneeling before her, and if Morgana had been cleaning like a crazy person because she actually wanted things to be clean, she'd be mad at him, ruining her freshly scrubbed floor. "Do you want me to go yell at him for it, because you know I will. Best friend, schmest friend, I'll yell at him anyway."

Morgana laughs, and it's probably not healthy, this, that she's so willing to be with a man who doesn't love her entirely, a man to whom her brother is probably almost as important as she is, if he's not more important all together, but... She loves him, and if Merlin doesn't remember then it's almost like it never happened. Or it's not, not really, but she can live with it, and that's really what matters.

"No," she says, determined, filling her tone with a finality that is as much to convince herself as it is Merlin. "It's okay," she says, then corrects herself, allowing just a little leeway, a little space to breathe, to re-correct. "It'll be okay."

Merlin wipes away the tears she missed, the tears that have almost stopped by now, and when he goes to hug her, she doesn't push him away.

He's hers, not Arthur's, and that's what matters.


End file.
